


For the rest of our lives

by Woodentrain



Series: Parallel Lives [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: A little bit of angst, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Crying, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Infant Loss, Internalized Homophobia, Italy, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Real Life, Talking, Therapy, all the talking, bisexual elio, but mostly happy, gay Oliver, joint bank accounts, only make it sexy, to mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23493646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woodentrain/pseuds/Woodentrain
Summary: What happened afterThese Parallel Lives?Here is the sequel which explores how they go about making a life together.If you haven't read it, then this won't make a lot of sense.  (But you should totally go and read it.)
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: Parallel Lives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690339
Comments: 423
Kudos: 233





	1. Six weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio has to work out a six-week notice period before he can leave his job and move in with Oliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 

That weekend with Elio marked the beginning of the rest of their lives- their one life, together- but that doesn’t mean everything is perfect. Or easy, for that matter. Surely, after all this time, the universe owes them a break? Surely things should be plain sailing for them now? 

Well, no. Oliver should have known better. Because of course that’s not quite how things work. How life works.

Things are easier, yes. And better. Really, really good, actually. But still not  _ easy _ . Difficult, because relationships are difficult at the best of times, and this particular relationship combines the challenges of newness with the difficulties of their history and all it entails. 

Life. It’s complicated, right?

***

The next six weeks pass in a blur of happiness and chaos and  _ is-this-really-happening _ ?

The weekends, and usually at least one night in between, are spent together. Sometimes at Elio’s place- because  _ I need to be here to pack if I’m going to move in with you _ \- and sometimes at Oliver’s, because Elio’s stuff is steadily, bit by bit, making its way over there. There’s not as much stuff as Oliver had imagined, though, because Elio is ruthlessly efficient when it comes to sorting out his possessions. “A lot of this was new when I moved in here, after the divorce. It doesn’t hold any sentimental value, and there’s no way I’d pay to ship it to Italy if we move there. So there’s no point putting it into storage now. You have perfectly good furniture and everything at your place. This stuff can all be sold, or donated.” 

The boxes that make the move to Oliver’s contain practical things- clothes, books, music- as well as the things which do hold more sentimental value. Photographs. Letters. He smiles ruefully at Oliver as he leafs through a pile of envelopes, sitting cross legged on the floor. “All of your letters, every one.”

Oliver catches glimpses of his own handwriting. “I have yours, too, you know.”

“I know. Of course I know.”

Oliver kneels behind him and rubs his shoulders. Elio holds up a stack of envelopes, sealed, held together with a purple elastic band. “These are yours. As in- these are for you. But I’m not sure if I want you to have them.”

“What do you mean, for me?”

“After we stopped writing. I didn’t stop writing. I stopped sending them, though. So here they are.”

“Oh.” Oliver almost reaches for them, but stops himself. “When did these stop?”

“More recently than I care to admit. Though there are big gaps. Years when I didn’t. But there are two from the past year. You can’t have those, though. That’d be like reading my diary.”

“You keep a diary?”

“No. Well, this-“ he waves the envelopes- “is sort of it, I guess. This is the closest thing, at least.”

“Well then.” Oliver plucks the letters from his hand and places them back in the box in front of Elio. “You keep them. For now, at least. If you want me to have them some time, then let me know. If you never do, then that’s fine too.”

“If I died, would you read them?”

“Yes.”

Sometimes things feel so simple.

***

Elio fills out forms for his new job. It’s a beautiful, bright Sunday, and Oliver wishes they weren’t stuck in the house. But this needs to be done. There seems to be an awful lot of paperwork to do before Elio starts work. Is it always like this? Oliver has forgotten what starting a new job is like. 

It’s a temporary post, a six month contract. The hospital was keen for him to commit to longer, but in the longer term Italy is there, beckoning in the background. 

“Do I put you as my emergency contact?”

“I should hope so.” This question hadn’t occurred to Oliver. It feels way more exciting than it probably should. 

“Who’s yours?”

“Oh. Julie, still, I guess. She must be. I haven’t thought about changing it.”

“Well, you’re still close to her. And she is the mother of your kids.”

“Yes, but she’s not the person who should be the first to know if I, I don’t know, have an accident or something.”

“Oh, don’t say that. I don’t want you to have an accident.”

“That’s not the point.”

“From a practical point of view, it makes sense for you to keep Julie. It’s not like I can answer my phone when I’m working. Julie is easier to get hold of. And it’s not like I’m legally your next of kin or anything.”

“Yes, that may be true. But she’s not you, Elio.” Oliver takes both of Elio’s hands in his, because this is important. “She is not the person, to me, who needs to be the first to know if anything happens to me. That’s you. You know that, right?”

So it happens gradually, until eventually Elio’s house is sold and they find themselves living together. Elio’s alarm goes off early on a Monday morning to herald the first day of their lives, together, as grown-ups with jobs to go to and bills to pay and… well, responsibilities. Things they  _ have to do _ . So unlike their summer years ago, and so thrillingly wonderful. A life where they go out to work and come home to each other. Thinking about it would feel amazing were it not for the fact that right now the bed is warm and Elio is in it and his hair is soft, but he’s about to climb out of bed and go to work. That part isn’t good.

Elio wriggles. “Oliver. I have to get up.” Oliver realises that he was holding Elio a little too tight. 

“No, stay here,” he mumbles, lazily. “You don’t have to go yet.”

“I sort of do, actually. I can’t be late. It’s my first day. Lives are at stake.”

“ _ Lives are at stake?  _ Why do I feel as though that’s your answer to everything? And I’m starting to think it may also be an exaggeration.”

“Regardless of your opinion about the importance of my profession, I have to get up.”

“Just let me kiss you first.”

Elio smiles and acquiesces, but resists when Oliver’s mouth leaves his own and starts to work its way down his neck, his chest, his-

“No. No, no, no. No time for that.” Elio nudges Oliver aside, pushes up onto his elbows and starts to swing his legs out of bed. “I really have to get up now.”

Oliver flops back down onto the pillows with a huff, discouraged but not yet defeated. “You’re so mean to me. I don’t ask for much. I can be quick, you know I can. I’m good at it. And just look at you!” Elio slept in a pair of back boxers, and there’s no hiding his erection as he heads for the bathroom. “We both know you’re going to go and jerk off in the shower. Don’t pretend you’re not. I could help you with that.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I can do that with one hand while I shampoo my hair with the other. Efficient use of time. If you really want to be helpful, go make some coffee.”

Oliver screws up his face in deep thought and he holds up his hands and looks from one to the other. “You can do that? But- but which hand does which? How do you coordinate it? And how do you not fall over, when… if you’re not...? It’s too early for me to work this sort of thing out. Just come back to bed. Five minutes. You can have coffee when you get to work.”

Elio takes his hand and pulls him to his feet. “I played piano, you know. I’ve spent hours practicing having the left and right hands doing different things. And anyway, this-“ he tugs at a lock of hair- “needs conditioning. That’s when I’ll have some time to kill.” He heads into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Oliver follows right behind.

“You know what would be the best use of time? You deal with this-“ he takes the lock of hair from Elio’s hand and twirls it around his finger- “while I deal with this.” He slides a hand into Elio’s boxers and smiles as Elio hisses delightfully. “And then I’ll make the coffee while you get dressed. Does that sound okay?”

Elio’s eyes have drifted closed, his lips parted, breathing already shallow and fast as Oliver’s hand teases. He nods. “That plan could work. But- but you? You know I’m going to feel bad if I don’t reciprocate.”

“So reciprocate later. That way I- both of us- get to spend All. Day. Thinking about it. Thinking about what I’m gonna get you to do to me when you get home.” His hand moves slowly, teasing.

“Ol- Oliver. First day, remember? Lives at stake, etcetera? Not the time to be thinking about you- your-“

“My what?” Oliver tries to hide his grin by kissing Elio’s jaw.

“Your… all of you. You know what you do to me.”

Oliver hums in agreement before pushing Elio’s boxers to the floor. “Come on. Shower’s hot. Big day ahead. Let’s get you off to a good start.”

That’s exactly what he does. It doesn’t take long. Oliver, soapy-handed, touches him expertly.

“Maybe next time I can wash your hair while you jerk yourself off.”

“Oh god. That’s...” Elio’s head, hair slippery with conditioner, falls back against the tiles, leaving Oliver to rinse his hair for him while he catches his breath.

After a rushed breakfast, Oliver kisses him goodbye by the front door.  _ Their  _ front door, now. “I’ll see you later. Have a good day.” It all feels so… normal.

When the door closes behind Elio, Oliver watches him out of the window as, not knowing he’s being watched, he does a happy twirl on the driveway before getting into his car and driving away. 


	2. Small things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living together may be wonderful, but it comes with challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for reference to infant loss.

When Oliver met Elio he was twenty-four. He’d thought that he was old, or at the very least a fully-fledged adult. Mature for his age. (Ha! It seems ridiculous now.) He was shy, yes, but he’d perfected a confident exterior so shiny and perfect that he’d almost believed it himself. He thought that he knew everything.

He’d known nothing about the things that mattered.

If someone had told him, back then when they first met, that he and Elio would be able to live together as a couple some day, he would have thought the idea absurd. 

If they’d have said that Oliver would be almost twice his current age when it finally happened, he would have been even less inclined to believe them. Still interested in Elio, still pining for him at 47? Surely he wouldn’t be. (But of course he would be. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself, by the time they parted at the end of the summer he already knew that he’d still be pining for Elio at 47, 67, if he lived to be a hundred and seven or more. That he’d always want him, that he’d wait forever or even longer, if that’s what it took.)

Sometimes he thinks that he still knows nothing about the things that matter. He feels like he’s messed up some things in his life, and badly- but he’s not sure how or what he could have done differently. 

But here they are, after 23 long years. A life . Every morning when he wakes up, Elio is right there in his bed, head on the pillow next to him. Oliver looks at him and sees him just as he was when they first met. He doesn’t even have to squint to make it real.

But it’s a steep learning curve, having a life together. They haven’t really dated for long before moving in together, and there are challenges to a relationship moving so fast. _It’s not too fast!_ Oliver thinks. _It’s taken 23 years to get here! It’s the slowest relationship ever!_ But of course he’s not quite right. They knew each other for six weeks, and were lovers for only two of those. Then they scarcely spoke for twenty years, not even as friends. And although they’ve steadily drifted back to each other over the last three years, they haven’t spent enough time together to know all of the small things about one another. The big things? That’s all fine. Oliver knows that the essence of Elio hasn’t changed a bit since he fell in love with him at seventeen, and he knows that Elio feels the same about him. There’s still so much of each one of them in the other that there was never any question of that. 

But the smaller things do matter. Because on the practical side of things? Well, there’s something absurdly difficult about entering a relationship with someone you’re already deeply in love with, and have been for a long time, whilst knowing next to nothing about the little things that make them the person they are today. Does Elio shower before work or after, or both? What does he wear to sleep in? Does he iron his own shirts? Does he even wear shirts, or does he wear scrubs at work? What does he do after work? Does he cook? Does he read, or watch TV, or something else entirely? Maybe he goes for a run, or a swim, or goes to a gym. Does he have hobbies Oliver doesn’t know about? Finding out about the realities of living with him is fun and exciting but also difficult. They have different ideas about when the dishes should be done and how much untidiness is acceptable. Oliver fears that he may have become- and he hates the phrase- a bit _set in his ways_ from living alone these past few years. He’s basically a bachelor- he’s never lived with a lover before. He’s been married- lived with a wife and children but that wasn’t exactly a conventional relationship. And what he has now is wonderful and amazing… but not always easy. Oliver is torn between the need to vent his exasperation and the urge to keep quiet to avoid conflict. 

They don’t really _fight_ , but they do bicker. Almost constantly, it feels like at times. It’s almost always about things where they’re just not quite on the same page- which is only to be expected- and they’re good at stopping themselves quickly, and talking and making up. But still, it wears on Oliver when he asks Elio, for what feels like the thousandth time, not to leave half-empty cups all over the house, or to switch the dishwasher on if it’s full. And just how hard can it be to pick up your socks and put them in the laundry hamper? 

One evening Oliver gets home from work later than usual. Elio had an early shift, so he’s been home for... an hour, probably? Oliver trips over his shoes, abandoned haphazardly by the door, and takes stock of the situation. A tea bag left in a puddle on the kitchen counter, next to a pile of crumbs and a dirty knife. The bread is also left out on the counter, along with the butter, with its lid off. The fridge door ajar. He knows that if he goes to the bedroom, the clothes Elio wore to work will be strewn across the floor.

In the living room there’s a plate on the floor, which Oliver almost steps on. And there’s Elio, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, lying on the sofa with a book in his hand. 

“Elio? Is everything okay? What happened in the kitchen?”

Elio puts the book face down on his lap and smiles at Oliver, clearly pleased to see him. “Oh, I was starving. Didn’t have time for lunch, so I made a sandwich. Gimme a few minutes, I’ll come tidy it up. When I finish this chapter. How was your day?”

“It was fine. Look. Is it too much to ask you, again, not to leave the kitchen like this?”

Elio rolls his eyes. “Oliver, it’s just a few crumbs. Don’t nag me. Do it yourself if it’s bothering you so much that you can’t wait five minutes.”

“Nag you? Stop acting so spoiled! Why don’t you just start calling me Mafalda? I’m not your hired help, Elio. I’m not going to pick up after you all the time.”

“So don’t. Just leave it. I already told you I’d tidy up when I’m done with this. And besides, you’re one to talk about being spoiled. You grew up in a mansion. I bet you never once had to clean up after yourself.”

“But I learned, because I’m an adult and not a spoiled brat!”

Elio somehow manages to look both angry yet defeated at the same time. “I’m just so tired. I work long hours at a difficult job- and I’m not saying that your job isn’t difficult, I’m really not, but it’s not physically draining in the same way as mine. And when I get home I just want to… not do anything. Or do something totally mindless. I don’t have the energy, physical or mental, to do things. Sometimes I don’t even want to move. I will tidy up, I promise, but later. Just give me some time to wind down.”

“Wouldn’t it be more relaxing if the house was tidy? How can you _wind down_ like this?”

“I just can. And anyway, it doesn’t affect you. No doubt you’ll soon be holed up in your study grading papers. So you won’t have to deal with me or the mess I make.”

Oliver had a bad day, and he knows he’s taking it out on Elio, but he can’t stop himself. “Yes, I will have to deal with you. Because you never leave me alone for more than five minutes. So it’ll take me all evening to finish my work, with your constant interruptions, and then we won’t have any time together.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m too needy for you. I just like spending time with you, that’s all.”

And suddenly Oliver’s not mad anymore. Elio’s openness takes the wind out of his sails. “I- you’re not too needy. I’m sorry. I feel bad about spending so much time working when you’re home, and I’m just angry about it. Come on.” He reaches a hand towards Elio and pulls him up to standing. “Put your shoes on. Let’s leave it all and go out for dinner.”

“But don’t you have to work?” Elio says it with concern, all bitterness gone.

“This is more important. The papers can wait. I’ll just stay late tomorrow and finish them at work. We need an evening together. We can talk about how to make things easier for both of us when we both have to work. Like… I could stay later and finish my work at work, so that when I’m here I’m here with you.”

“Okay. You’re right. And I’m sorry, too. I know this is hard for you, as well as me. I can’t pretend to be the easiest person to live with. I need to try to spend five minutes cleaning up after myself before I flop down on the sofa, so tired I can’t get up again.”

“Maybe you’re not quite perfect, but nor am I. And I kind of like fighting with you, sometimes, because it means that you’re here and you’re real, all of this is real. We’re making this work, right?”

Elio grins. “Oh, yes, definitely. So let’s get dinner. It’s early, you’ll still have time to finish your work when we get back.”

“Absolutely not. After dinner we could see a movie? Or we could just come back here and have an early night. It’s been too long since we really took our time with… you know.”

“Oh.” Elio slips an arm around Oliver’s waist and pulls him close. “No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Wait until later and I’ll show you.”

Elio moves his mouth to Oliver’s neck. “Oh, will you now? I’ll hold you to that.”

“Please do. Now- hey, stop that, or we won’t make it out of the house- what do you want to eat?”

***

Most of the arguments are about the small things. And there are less of them as time goes on and they get to know each other’s habits and preferences better. They work out which things are non-negotiable, and which they need to be more relaxed about. Sometimes Elio picks small fights because _you’re always so controlled, it’s such a turn on when you get mad_ , and then they end up having great, semi-angry sex, which suits both of them just fine.

However, there are sometimes bigger problems. Oliver never feels like there’s anything insurmountable- not even close. But they both have insecurities which they can’t let go.

The first real test, the thing that brings all the cracks into sharp relief, comes just months into their proper “relationship.” It’s only a few weeks since Elio finished his old job and really moved in with Oliver, and despite the amount of time they’ve been spending together- which is a lot- they’re still working through the challenges of living together.

So when Elio becomes vague and then downright evasive when Oliver tries, over breakfast, to pin him down about plans for the weekend, it seems like another sign that things aren’t quite as they should be.

“Oliver, I just… look, I have to do something. That’s all. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I just thought we could see the boys. You’ve only met them once, and they want to get to know you. They’re both free this weekend, and I didn’t think we had plans, so-”

Elio gets up to fetch a carton of juice from the fridge. “So go see them, Oliver. I’m not stopping you. I don’t want you to neglect your kids for me.”

“You won’t come with me?”

“I- no. I can’t.” Elio pushes his hair back on his head, a habit he has when he’s irritated or losing patience. “I already told you that.”

“I could invite them over here, if you don’t want to go out.”

Elio sits back down, but focuses on his food instead of looking at Oliver. “Well, yes, you could. You don’t need to remind me that it’s your house, after all, not mine, and I can’t stop you. But I’d really, really rather you didn’t right now. Look, can we not discuss this? I said I’m busy. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Is this another thing you have to do because you’ve nervous about spending too much time with me? Is this one of those weekends where, if we weren’t living together, you’d say you had to work and blame your absence on whoever puts together the shift rota? Because you could just say that you need some time alone. Honestly, I know this, everything, is a big deal, and it’s not easy, but I really thought we were past all of this. The-”

“No, it’s not like that. This is a thing I have to do because it’s the anniversary of my son’s…” he pauses and swallows- “his birthday. The day we lost him. So I have to… um… I have to go to… somewhere. To do something. I didn’t tell you, because… I don’t know why, actually. I guess I didn’t want to talk about it.” Elio shakes his head, lost.

“Oh.” _I am such an idiot. I am the world’s most stupid, most thoughtless, most insensitive asshole._ “Okay. Shit. Elio, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known. I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m sorry I pushed you. Is there anything you want me to do? If you want the house to yourself, I can make myself scarce. Or do you want me to come with you? I can just wait in the car, if you want. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you. It means a lot. But no. Not this time, at least.” Elio chews on his thumbnail, and when he looks at Oliver it’s nervous. Not reluctant as such, but something. Afraid of rejection, perhaps. “Do you want to see a photo?”

“Oh, Elio.” Oliver takes his hand. “Of course. I’d love to. But don’t feel that you have to. If you’d rather not, I understand.”

“I want to show you, if you want to.”

Oliver nods.

There are three photographs, in a white envelope. One of Elio and a tired-looking but very pretty woman- presumably his ex wife- sitting side-by-side while the baby rests on her arm. The smallest baby Oliver has even seen, unbelievably small. Elio and the woman smile mechanically for the camera. “Because that’s what you do when there’s a camera. And I guess we were happy, in a way, to have met him at all, even though…” It hurts Oliver that Elio feels he has to excuse himself. “I sometimes wonder if things would have been better if he’d been born alive, and we’d been able to…” Elio shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t have lived, so… there was no good way, no good outcome.”

The second photograph is Elio alone, sitting in a blue chair that screams _hospital,_ looking down, awestruck, at the tiny child cradled in his hands. Then the third- baby alone, wrapped in a white blanket with a tiny, tiny arm poking out. Fingers with tiny nails. Thin skin and veins. A person in miniature. 

He could be sleeping. 

Oliver’s heart is breaking for the man beside him, who has lived through losses he cannot imagine. “Oh, Elio,” he whispers, “look at him. He’s so beautiful.”

Elio half-snorts, half-chokes, disbelievingly. “No, he’s not. He‘s really not. He’s...”

“Well, honestly, babies are never _pretty_ , really, when they first come out. They all look a little squished and weird, I guess. But he’s so beautiful. And he looks like you, you know that? Look at his little nose. He has your nose.”

Elio’s smile is one of someone who’s trying not to break down. He sucks in a shaky breath, lets it out with a wheeze that’s halfway between laughter and tears. “Now you’re being silly. He was so small he hardly had a nose at all.”

“It is a very tiny nose, that’s true. But it’s definitely yours. Just look at him. He’s perfect.” Oliver hesitates, not wanting to overstep a boundary. “Will you tell me his name?”

So Elio does. And then he finally cries. And, because other people’s grief is a strange thing, so does Oliver. 


	3. Good night, good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More discussion
> 
> Warning for more reference to infant loss

Elio leaves at lunch time on Saturday, to do whatever it is he does on his son’s birthday. He doesn’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine. Understandable. Oliver stays at home and waits, because it feels like the right thing to do.

He kills the time by calling Julie, and the boys, and his sister. Cleans the house, does some work… unable to really focus on anything. The problem is that Elio is hurting and he is powerless to help. So he just keeps on waiting and does a few more half-hearted chores. 

When Elio gets home he doesn’t seem unhappy, as such. Subdued, certainly, but not miserable. 

Subdued, and cold. “You’re freezing, Elio.” Oliver rubs Elio’s hands between his own. Touches his nose- yes, also freezing. “You’ve been outside?”

Elio nods. 

“But you’re okay?”

Another nod.

“You know I’m here if you want to talk? Any time,” Oliver murmurs into his hair as he holds him tight, rubbing the warmth back into him.

“I know. I’m okay, really I am.”

They spend the evening quietly and uneventfully before retiring to bed. A little after midnight Oliver registers the fact that Elio is lying awake beside him. Usually it’s Oliver who doesn’t sleep well- who struggles to fall asleep, and sleeps fitfully, tossing and turning, waking up unable to drift off again. And all of his nights of broken sleep have made him finely attuned to Elio who, right now, is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. There’s one sure fire thing Oliver knows of that’s guaranteed to knock Elio out for the night, but tonight isn’t the time for that. 

“Can’t sleep?” Oliver asks softly.

Elio doesn’t reply. 

Oliver rolls to face him and fumbles for his hand in the dark. Waits for him to say something. Or if he doesn’t want to talk, Oliver can hopefully provide silent comfort.

Eventually, Elio speaks. 

“He would’ve been five today. I suppose we would have had cake, and a party, and all that stuff that you do for birthdays. And presents. He’d probably have been so spoiled. Only child, only grandchild. Unless we’d had another, which I suppose we might have by now. Though I don’t know what we would have spoiled him with. I don’t know what five-year-olds like. I don’t know many kids, and I have no idea what I liked at five.” He pauses. “What did your boys like when they were five? I wish I’d known them.”

Oliver thinks for a moment. “Um. Well, Alan liked animals. It was always animals with him. He liked trips to the zoo, and nature documentaries, and little plastic animals. And dinosaurs. He used to build houses for them with Lego.

“And Ed… he liked cars. Very stereotypical for a small boy. But he also liked drawing, colouring, books. And sports. Basketball, soccer. He liked a lot of things but never really obsessed over one thing in particular. He wanted to try everything.”

Elio nods, and there’s quiet again for a moment. He’s staring at the ceiling again.

“Sometimes I don’t think of him at all, for ages. And then I feel so guilty. Because he has no-one else to think about him, you know? Only two people who even remember he existed. So sometimes I feel guilty for not caring enough. For not being a better parent. And other times I feel so, so devastated. And empty. And then I feel guilty about that, too, because so many parents go through so much worse. Parents who get to know their children and have to watch them suffer and then lose them anyway. No-one should have to go through that. So I feel guilty for my sadness, because I feel like I should consider myself lucky that at least we didn’t have to go through something like that. He never suffered, at least.”

“I don’t think you can compare suffering like that, Elio. Things that happen to other people, even if they seem like worse things, don’t make your own sadness any less important. Any less valid.”

“I know. But… it’s just difficult.”

“Have you talked to someone about this?”

“As in, a professional?”

“Mmm.” Oliver nods, although he’s not sure Elio can see him.

“Yeah, a bit. But it’s one of those things where it’s difficult for the man in the situation to ask for help, you know? She was so… it destroyed her. I had to be the strong one, and be there for her. Plus I felt like, well, I’m a doctor, I should be able to cope with things like that. Should be immune to it, at least partially. So when I wanted to break down, I couldn't. I had to hold it together.” Oliver understands the pressure society places on masculinity better than most men. He hates that Elio feels it too. He always wanted the world to be better for Elio than it has been for him. “I had to go back to work, because you still have to pay the bills. And it was around that time that my mom first got really bad, too, so I had to deal with that. It all felt very busy. A lot of awful things were happening at the same time. So I haven’t talked about it much. But I’ve learned to live with it.”

“Would it help to keep a photo of him out in the house, where you could see it? I have pictures of my boys on display.”

“But your boys are alive.”

“You think that makes your son any less important? It doesn’t.”

“I… I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Thanks.” He’s quiet for a long time, breathing evenly, and Oliver thinks he must have fallen asleep, until he speaks again. “If he had been born alive, at least- if we’d had even just a few moments with him, then maybe then I’d feel like I was a father. Not a proper one, but at least a bit. But… I don’t know if it would have made a difference. He wouldn’t have made it. He was so small, so early.”

“What happened to him doesn’t mean you’re not a real father.”

Elio rolls onto his side, away from him, as though denying the truth of what Oliver has said. Oliver fits himself against his back and pulls him closer with an arm around his chest. 

“It’s not exactly the same as raising a child, Oliver.”

“It’s- I know that. But it doesn’t mean you’re not a proper father. Loving him the way you obviously did-  _ do-  _ makes you more of a father than mine ever was. You’re certainly a better parent than a lot of people.” Oliver can’t see him, but he knows Elio doesn’t believe him- and he doesn’t know what he can do about that, so he just squeezes his hand. “I don’t know what to say, Elio. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Nothing is going to make this right. You’re here. Just be here. That’s enough.”

Oliver pulls him into his chest and listens to him breathe until they both fall asleep.

***

Oliver lets Elio sleep in, and wakes him with coffee just before ten. He seems better. Rested. His hair is sticking up, and he yawns, and Oliver adores him. Sometimes the happiness of having Elio in his life takes him aback. He puts his own coffee next to the bed and slides back under the covers.

“This is good. Thanks.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, actually. Thank you.”

“So, I’m supposed to go over the Julie’s this afternoon, to see her and, um…” 

“You can say it, Oliver. You can talk about your kids, you know.”

“I know that, it’s just that this isn’t a good time for you, and I don’t want to make things worse.”

“You’re going to make things worse by being all weird about it. Just act normal. Yes, I lost my son. But it’s not something I think about all the time. I’m not okay with it, but I’m not upset by other people talking about their kids. You grieve, and life goes on. And I know that sounds horrible, but it’s true. It happened five years ago. Yesterday was my day for thinking about him, and all the things that might have been, but I don’t feel sad about it all the time. Today the sun is shining and birds are singing and you’re here, bringing me coffee in bed, and I know that’s all a cliché but, you know, life is good. I won’t join you at Julie’s today, but that’s not because seeing someone else’s children makes me feel sad about what I don’t have. It’s just because I’m feeling a bit tired and washed out and not in the mood for trying to make a good impression on people I hardly know. I’m happy to stay home and have a quiet afternoon.” As if to prove his point, he yawns.

“But you don’t have to try to make a good impression.”

“Yes, I do. I want them to like me. I want it a lot, actually. If your family don’t like me, then… I don’t even know what then. But I’m not at my best today.”

“Okay. I get it. They want to see you again, though. In a week or two, maybe?”

“Sure. I want to see them too. I like seeing you with them, seeing how you are with your kids.” Elio looks at Oliver over his coffee cup. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you always want kids?”

“Yes.” Oliver doesn’t need to think about it. Yes. But Elio doesn’t just want a one-word answer, so he thinks about it and explains. “I always wanted kids of my own. I wanted to be part of a family- a proper, normal family, I guess, because mine wasn’t one. I wanted to have kids and love them the way I wanted my parents to love me. I wanted to do the fun things that families are supposed to do, kid stuff, the things I missed out on. I wanted to feel that I was a normal person. It’s hard to feel normal when you’re a constant disappointment to your parents, and when you know that you’re a weird loner who prefers his own company, even though you try not to be like that- not to mention gay, which is something society and your family tell you is neither normal nor acceptable. I wanted to be something other than what I was.” He smiles. Well, half a smile, really. “Which is probably why being with you turned my life upside down.”

“Did you end things between us because you wanted those things?” Elio asks the question but immediately looks horrified with himself. Embarrassed to still be so vulnerable, maybe. He puts a hand on Oliver’s arm. “No, wait, you don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from. It just slipped out. I do still think about it sometimes, but I didn’t intend for this conversation to take that turn, now.” 

“We can talk about it. It’s not a secret. Though I don’t really have a good answer for you.” Oliver knows that no amount of thinking about it will provide a satisfactory answer to this question. God knows he’s tried, for years, to work it out. “I don’t know. Wanting those things was part of it. But was wanting kids, and that sort of family life, the  _ whole  _ reason why I couldn’t be with you? No. I still don’t know how to explain it. I wish I did, for my own sake as well as yours, but I don’t. The reasons I had… they were good reasons at the time. I’m not pretending it was selfless- I did it for myself, because it was the way to get some of the things I wanted- the family I wanted, for one thing. But at the same time I’m not going to beat myself up about what a terrible person I was for selfishly doing what I did, because I thought it was best for you too. I really did. And I’m sorry.

“When I realised I was gay, I knew there would have to be comprimises. Marriage was a means to an end- family, kids, a life I couldn’t have had another way. It was the same thing for Julie- well, logistically it would have been more straightforward for her to get children then it would for me, but she needed me for the stability, and family, the appearance of respectability. You and I couldn’t have had those things. Not then.”

“We could now. Things are different.”

“They are. It’s a world I couldn’t have imagined when I was in my twenties. And now, I’ve lived all those things I wanted back then. I don’t want the same things I wanted before. But I do want this.”

He looks at Elio and smiles before kissing him, softly. 

“Me too.”


	4. Time to talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite his happiness with Elio, Oliver's problems keep coming back to haunt him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always going to be a big part of this epilogue. It's not about them living happily ever after (though it sort of is, and they will, I promise!) but about how they get there from where they were when they got back together.

Weeks living together turn into months- the best months of Oliver’s life, really. He and Elio are steadily working through things together, and it’s good. Amazing. He is hopelessly, dizzily in love and in the joy of being loved.

But things aren’t perfect. There are hiccups and misunderstandings aplenty, though luckily there’s nothing insurmountable. Not even anything big, really, except for one thing, a thing that shouldn’t be a thing at all.

Because the bigger, biggest problem is entirely in Oliver’s head, but no less serious for that. He finds that, unexpectedly, his anxiety gets worse and worse as time goes on. Worse than it’s been in years. He doesn’t have the frantic, dizzying, terrifying panic attacks, but he can feel them looming close, pushing at him from the back of his head, demanding that he stop and breathe unless he wants to succumb. And the all-encompassing sense of dread is no less serious. He’s unsettled, jittery, feels like he’s bursting out of his own skin with the tension. He’s snappy and irritable, tired and tense. He tries to hide it from Elio, but that only makes him feel worse. It adds to the feeling itself, and in addition he feels guilty for hiding something from Elio. If this is going to work between them, then they both need to be honest. But he doesn’t want to worry Elio, or make him feel … what, exactly? As usual, he doesn’t really know.

The whole thing is in danger of spiralling out of control, and Oliver, frustrated, tells his therapist as much.

“I have everything I ever wanted, so what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just be happy about it?”

“You finally have something you want, but you don’t think you deserve it and you’re afraid of losing it. Of course that makes you anxious. And you’re finally, after all these years, letting yourself feel something, really feel something for the first time in a very, very long time. And that’s terrifying. 

“You need to talk to Elio about this. Things are complicated for you as an individual and for the two of you together, too. Have you thought about seeing a couples’ therapist? I can recommend some people who I think you might work well with.”

“Do you think it would help?”

Richard nods. “I think it could, yes, but it’s up to you. If you don’t expect it to help then it probably won’t. The difficulties you’re having are completely normal. They’re issues many couples face, but they’re magnified by the things you’ve been through. Talking to an outsider might help. Have a think about it, and  _ talk to Elio about it _ .”

_ Difficulties. Problems. Issues.  _ They’re not supposed to have those things. After everything that’s happened, this should be the easy part. So why is it so damned difficult?

But Oliver doesn’t mention it to Elio. More weeks pass, and of course Richard keeps asking about it.

“Do you talk to Elio about this?”

“Um. No, not really. I know you said I should, but, well- no. You’re going to ask me why, aren’t you?”

Richard just raises his eyebrows.  _ I probably don’t need to bother asking, do I? _

“I don’t want him to see that side of me. I’m not exactly proud of it.”

Richard just nods.

They know each other well enough now that Richard doesn’t even need to ask the questions any more. Oliver thinks them himself and answers them without being asked. It’s a thought process he’s learned and which, he supposes, is sort of the point of this. But he still needs a space where he forces himself to do it and to put the answers into words. Left to his own devices, he wouldn't make the time to think about it.

So it doesn’t surprise him that he finds himself delivering a soliloquy. “I don’t talk to him because I’m still ashamed of feeling this way. I still feel that he might judge me for it, even though I know he won’t. It feels like weakness, though I know I’m supposed to have moved past that by now. I still hear my father’s voice telling me to  _ be a man.  _ I hear it less, but no amount of work we do here makes it go away, and after all this time I don’t think it ever really will. You know it doesn’t bother me in the same way it used to. I can cope with it pretty well now. But I don’t want to have to explain it to Elio, to drag him into that part of my life. Because it’s not him finding out about this feeling that worries me- I know he will be good about it. That he won’t think it’s a weakness. But there’s all the other stuff that comes with it. The family, and the history, and the fact that I  _ cannot move on from it.  _

“And I don’t want him to treat me differently, or pity me for my troubled childhood and the fact that I cannot completely move on from it, or to think that he’s not enough for me, not enough to make me happy. I don’t want to hurt him. Because I worry that he might be hurt about it. And that he might want to talk about things I don’t. I feel guilty, so guilty, about hiding from him. We’re supposed to be able to tell each other everything. We were-  _ are-  _ so close, but…”

He’s finally run out of steam. Sits, and shrugs. “I’m just not ready to talk to him about it yet.”

***

Oliver is  _ dealing with it _ . He had been seeing Richard once or twice a month, but now he’s back to therapy every week, and of course Elio asks why he’s late back every Thursday. Oliver should have just told him, but he didn’t and now it has become  _ A Thing _ . “It’s not that I think you’re cheating on me, or anything, I just… I don’t know. I don’t mind you going somewhere. I just don’t get why it’s a secret. I didn’t think we did that. I can’t think of anywhere you might go every week and not want to tell me about.”

There are several ways in which Oliver could respond. 

He could tell Elio that it’s none of his business, it’s private, personal. Oliver knows that Elio would be fine with that, because he’s not an asshole. He knows how the conversation would go:

_ It’s nothing to do with you, Elio. It’s personal. Don’t ask, okay?  _ Yes, it sounds defensive, but there’s not really a way to say that without it being defensive. Elio would say something like  _ okay, that’s fine. You don’t have to tell me everything. But is it something bad? Should I be worried? You know you can talk to me if you need to.  _

Elio would be worried, genuinely worried, and Oliver doesn’t want that. It wouldn’t be fair to worry him over this.

He could lie.  _ I have to teach a new seminar late on Thursdays _ would be easy and realistic. But even if he could bear to lie to Elio, it would be an obvious lie now, because why wouldn’t he have just told him that in the first place? Not to mention it could be easily checked with a quick phone call to the university. (Would Elio do that? Would Oliver be okay with putting him in a position where he feels he has to check up on Oliver, check if he’s lying to him? No. No, he wouldn’t.)

The fact that he hasn’t used either of these possible solutions to get Elio to stop asking about it suggests that there’s probably a part of him that wants to just tell Elio the truth. 

But he just can’t. So he fudges, with vague excuses and changes of subject- but that only makes Elio more curious (which is reasonable), until eventually Oliver snaps and confesses what he should just have said all along. “Because that’s when I see my therapist, okay? Now will you just let it go?”

Elio looks confused. “Now I have even less of a clue why this was a secret. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I don’t tell people. Because I’m embarrassed.” Honest, finally.

“Well, okay.” Elio lowers his voice, speaks gently, and it soothes Oliver’s defensiveness. “But I don’t get why. You think I haven’t done therapy? Me? How do you think I got to be so well-adjusted? I’m a precocious, spoiled, only child of wealthy parents who let me do whatever I wanted. It’s not like I haven’t seen therapists. My dad used to say  _ I almost bankrupted myself putting you through therapy _ . It’s not something to be embarrassed about.”

“It’s something that my dad wouldn’t have joked about. He would have said it was pitiful for a grown man to have to pay someone to talk to about his problems instead of just getting on and sorting them out himself. He would have said I should keep those things to myself. I- look, sometimes I think that I have emotional issues that you will never be able to understand. Things that I don’t think I will ever really understand myself. And now I feel even more inadequate for not just telling you in the first place, and for making a fuss, and-“ Oliver probably needs to slow down, calm down, but everything is spilling out and, if the way Elio wraps his arms around his is anything to go by, Elio can obviously see it too.

“Hey. No, don’t. It’s okay. I get it. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry I pushed you about it. It’s none of my business.”

Oliver pushes him back, bringing them face-to-face. “But it  _ is  _ your business. I don’t know why I can’t just tell you these things. What’s wrong with me?”

_ Depression  _ is what’s wrong with Oliver, apparently. So his therapist thinks, anyway, when Oliver expresses his continued frustration the next time they meet.

“I think that you have- have had, on and off, for years- mild, ongoing depression. Not that I’m qualified to make a formal diagnosis, as you know, but I’d bet good money on it. But come on, Oliver, this isn’t news to you. I’ve told you that I suspect as much many times over the years. The sleeplessness, the anxiety, the drinking, the lack of joy in so much of your life. It’s all part of a bigger picture.”

“I don’t think I am, though. I’m fine. It’s not like I can’t get out of bed, or think about killing myself, or anything like that.”

“Of course not. Hence  _ mild _ depression. Maybe moderate, at times. And it’s all coming to a head now, because you finally have everything you want. You can’t justify this to yourself as feeling unhappy because you’re living a lie, or lonely, or any of those things which have been problems for you for so long. Now you have a life you never dared to dream of a few years ago. You have what you consider to be a great life. You have things you never thought you’d get to have, and now that you have them, you should feel happy. But here we are, and you’re not able to feel that happiness. And in my opinion, that’s because you’re depressed.”

Oliver doesn’t have a response for this. Everything about it rings true- because that’s exactly the problem, isn’t it? He is living the life he always wanted, loving the man he’s always loved from afar, having him in his home and his bed and his life instead of just in his head. He  _ should _ be happy, but in fact he finds it hard to feel much at all. He nods slowly.

“So what can you do about this? We can keep talking about it. If you’re ready to admit that this may be the issue, then you might find that just talking it through really helps. My suggestion is- and I know you’re against it, but still- I recommend that you see your doctor. Talk about medication. Just to even things out a little, over the next few months at least.”

“I finally have everything I want, and you suggest I look into  _ enjoying it _ in a medicated stupor?”

“No. Absolutely not. The right medication isn’t going to make you feel like that. It would just help if you had something to help lift the fog a little. Give you some time to adjust to what your life is like now. To really be able to enjoy how wonderful it is.”

“I know how wonderful it is. I  _ know  _ that.”

“I know you know that. That’s exactly my point. Knowing it isn’t the same as feeling it, and that’s your problem. You deserve to be happy, really happy, and we need to look into different options that might help you to get there. I think you’re going to have to work at this, be open to exploring different things that might help. But this, right here, today, this is a start, you know? I’ve been trying to get you to have this conversation for years now, and this is the furthest we’ve ever got.”

Oliver sighs. Sometimes it’s so fucking hard. His relationship. His life. Feeling better. All hard work. In some ways, it was easier to be miserable. 

But he’s going to keep working on it.


	5. Talk to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Elio work together on their relationship.

Oliver doesn’t share much of what he and Richard discussed, but he does, reluctantly, mention Richard’s recommendation for the two of them, and is surprised to find that Elio agrees that couples’ therapy might be helpful.

“Really?”

Elio shrugs. “Sure, why not? It can’t hurt, right?” He puts his arms around Oliver. “It doesn’t mean that we think things aren’t working between us. This isn’t a failing relationship. If talking things through with someone else is going to make all of this work better, then that’s great, right?”

Oliver is nervous on the way to the appointment. “What are we supposed to do? Are we supposed to sit close together, hold hands? If we do, does it look like we’re trying too hard, faking something? If we don’t, does it look like we don’t really like each other?”

Elio pokes him in the side. “Overthinking, Oliver. Stop it.”

The guy seems nice. “You seem pretty nervous.” It could be addressed to both of them, but he looks at Oliver while he says it, and Oliver shrinks in his seat. Just a bit. “Let’s get one thing out of the way. Most people are nervous at first. Talking about relationships is hard. And experience tells me that a lot of people get nervous because they think they’re going to have to talk about their sex life.” Well, that’s not why Oliver was nervous before, but it is now. He can feel himself blushing. He tries to sit up straighter, to look more confident, as though talking to strangers about his sex life is something he does every day. “But that’s not what we’re going to do here. If that’s not something either of you see as an issue in your relationship, then it’s not something we need to talk about. I won’t ask about it unless you want me to. And even if we do, we’re certainly not going to discuss any details. That’s not my area of expertise. I should probably know if it’s something you feel you need to work on, but if it’s not, then that’s pretty much as far as any discussion of sex needs to go.”

“I, um…” Oliver swallows. “I don’t think that’s an issue here.”

Elio snorts, but immediately catches himself and tries to look serious. “No. That part’s all good.” He nudges Oliver’s ankle with his foot. Smiles at him, knowingly. Oliver blushes a bit more.

It’s better than _good,_ actually. There’s a lot to be said for making up for lost time. And while neither of them have the stamina of 17-year-old Elio, there’s still plenty in terms of both quantity and quality.

The issues they have are more to do with communication, and after a bit of conversation about their history and relationship in general, that’s what they get to talking about. 

The main thing that drives Oliver crazy is that way that Elio still, sometimes, seems to be holding himself back. He’d expected this to resolve itself with time, but it hasn’t.

“I’m not saying that you’re not allowed to be your own person. You don’t have to share everything- I’m not pretending that I share everything with you. But sometimes I feel like… I feel like we’ll be talking about something and you make a conscious effort not to say certain things. I’m not saying you’re keeping secrets- which would be fine, anyway- but it’s like you want to keep yourself apart, like you’re making a big effort not to let me in too much. Elio, can’t we just… can’t we just try to enjoy this?”

“You make it sound so simple. But I am a forty year old man with two failed marriages, two divorces, one of which was very acrimonious. And apart from that, I have a string of other failed relationships including one that was, with hindsight, borderline abusive. I am not good at this, Oliver. I make bad choices when it comes to relationships, and I don’t have a good track record of making them last. Who’s to say that this is any different? What if this is just another bad choice? What if I’m pinning all of my hopes on this, only for it to not work out again? And for you to get hurt too? I don’t think I could bear that. I have baggage now that I didn’t have at seventeen. Sometimes I don’t see why you want to take a chance on me, on all of this. It seems too good to be true, and I feel like I have to keep something back, because investing everything is just too risky. I’m waiting for it all to fall apart.”

“So you think that’s going to happen? You want to bail as soon as things get difficult, because you expect things to go wrong?”

“That’s not what I said. I’m just really worried about what I’m left with if this doesn’t work out. It feels like this is my last chance.”

Oliver hasn’t really considered what happens if this doesn’t work out. Has never considered it. He shivers.

“And as for holding back? Oliver, I feel like there are so many things I can’t talk to you about, because you blame yourself for them. Sometimes I mention things and you look like a kicked puppy, as though you’re worried that you messed me up. Like you should have been there to stop it all. Or if you had stayed with me, they would never have happened in the first place. You look like you think that everything I ever suffered was somehow your fault. How am I supposed to talk to you when you feel that way? When everything I say is just another reason for you to punish yourself. And yes, maybe you did mess me up. I’m not going to pretend that you didn’t leave scars. But that’s just part of life. I think that in the long run you messed yourself up even more. And most of the time I think, deep down, that you were probably doing the right thing when you left me- I needed to do those things and make mistakes. There were things in your life that meant you believed we couldn't be together, and I trust you to be correct in that belief, painful as it may be. Sometimes I want to talk to you about my life in the years when you didn’t know me, and I feel like I can’t do that. There are all sorts of things I want to tell you, but I find myself stopping myself because I don’t want to upset you.”

Oh. Oliver had no idea.

So the therapist sets them homework- and while Oliver had sort of expected it he still has to make an effort not to roll his eyes. “You were apart for a long time. It sounds like you’re missing out on a lot of the fun- and necessary- part of getting to know each other again. So before I see you again, I want you to do something. Sit down together- maybe go out for dinner, if being at home is going to be too distracting- and you need to tell each other ten things that you did while you were apart. Maybe places you’ve been, or things that happened to you. Things that other person doesn’t know about. Oliver, you look nervous again. You don’t like the idea?”

 _Nervous_ has been pretty much Oliver’s default status during the whole hour, but, “I- no, it’s not that. I feel like Elio will have tons of interesting things to say, and I’ll have nothing, because my life has been so boring. Normal. I’ve worked- and not in an especially interesting job- and I’ve raised my kids, and nothing much about either of those things are interesting to an outsider.”

“You’re worried that this will be another thing that makes you feel boring, and inadequate, and unworthy of my attention?” Elio asks.

“I don’t feel like that!”

Elio says nothing. Just raises his eyebrows and looks at him.

“Well, no! Yes. Maybe, a bit. I don’t know.” A sigh. “I suppose I don’t think I have anything to tell you that would interest you.”

“Everything about you interests me. You should know that by now. It doesn’t have to be big things. I love finding out all the little things about you.”

So that’s what they do. Go to a restaurant, order food, and talk. “You ready to do this?” asks Elio. Oliver nods. “Okay. I’ll go first. This is a good one.” He grins and looks at Oliver. “When I was in college, I bleached my hair. Bright, white blond.”

Oliver raises his eyebrows. Blinks. Tries to imagine it, but… he just can’t see it.

“Do you have pictures?”

Elio laughs. “Not right now, but sure, there must be some, somewhere. But I’ll tell you now, it wasn’t pretty. It was awful, actually. And it felt so damaged. I was in such a panic- I thought my hair- which I am very fond of- might be ruined forever. But…” He twists a curl in his fingers. “Well, it grew out okay in the end.”

“Thank god for that.”

“Right. Your turn.”

“I’m still feeling self conscious about this, you know.”

“I know. But it doesn’t have to be something big. Pick anything. I could listen to you talk about anything, literally anything, all night, and still be happy.”

“Okay. So, once we went to…”

And they continue. It seems like such a small thing to do, but it makes a big difference. That night the sex is electric. They’re close to having sex in the car ( _wait, wait, this will be better at home_ ) and barely make it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind them like a pair of horny teenagers.

Elio lies on his back afterwards, struggling to catch his breath. He turns his head towards Oliver. “Wow. That was... something else. It wasn’t just me, right?” 

“No, it’s not just you. It really was. I… yeah. _Wow_.”

The _something else_ is a new intimacy, a connection fizzling between them that wasn’t quite there before. The intimacy of knowing and holding nothing back. Really starting to believe that life is spread out before them, not something ending in a few days or a few weeks. Something different, that Oliver didn’t know would make a difference. 

It’s only the second time they’ve called each other by their own names since they reconnected, the first since they’ve been living together and- and it feels… huge. Oliver feels his breath catch in his throat. Everything is starting all over again, and it’s the most wonderful, beautiful feeling.

The next morning, though, there’s a terrible sense of déjà vu. He wakes up early and can just _feel_ the tension in Elio’s body, wrapped up in his arms. But this time he’s not about to make the mistake of not talking about it. Not again, when he’s been given this miraculous second chance to do things right. He releases Elio from his hold, to give him space, and rolls onto his side to look at him. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Oliver’s heart sinks as Elio seems to pull further away. But he stops. Just rolls onto his side, a mirror of Oliver, and settles his head on the pillow, face-to-face. “I don’t know.” A whisper in the early morning quiet. “I just… sometimes it all seems too good to be true. Do you ever feel like that?”

Oliver laughs in relief and nods. “All the time. Every moment of every day. I can’t help but think that nobody deserves something as good as this. But here we are all the same.”

“Sometimes I love you so much I don't think I can bear it. And every morning I wake up and I’m surprised that you’re still here.”

“A pleasant surprise, I hope? Because you know I’m not going anywhere.”

“Pleasant? Yes. Very much so. And-” he puts his hands around Oliver’s waist and pulls their bodies flush against one another- “speaking of pleasant. I mean, I don’t mean to make it all about sex, but there’s time, and…”

Oliver makes a noise in the back of his throat. He’s still sleepy, almost-hard, likes this a lot. “Oh. Yes. But I may be too sleepy to fuck. That seems like an awful lot of effort right now. And there’s no way my knees could stand a repeat of last night.” He could be persuaded, of course he could. But right now there’s something beautiful about lying here, all soft skin and warm and lazy under Elio’s hands. 

“Don’t care. It doesn’t have to be that. Kiss me, and let’s see where this goes.”


	6. Here comes the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver finally talks to his doctor.

Oliver really hasn’t had the best day. When he walks through the door it’s getting late, he’s soaked to the skin, and he’s Officially Depressed. Which, it turns out, is a lot like being unofficially depressed except somehow worse.

Elio hears the door open and comes to meet him. “Hi, did you have a good- oh, wow. What happened? You’re soaked.” He disappears for the time it takes for Oliver to take off his shoes, and reappears with a towel, which he plonks unceremoniously on Oliver’s head, rubbing the drips from his hair. “Just look at you! When did you get caught in the rain? You want a hot shower, or maybe a bath? There, that’s better.” He drops the towel to Oliver’s shoulders, and laughs as he runs his hands through Oliver’s hair. “Look at you, you’re all floofy. I like it.”

Oliver moves Elio’s hand away, impatiently. “Not now, Elio.”

The smile falls from Elio’s face and he scrutinizes Oliver. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just cold and wet. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He heads for the stairs, but Elio grabs his wrist. “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong, don’t tell me it isn’t. What happened? Is this something to do with the reason why you’re soaking wet? Because you don’t get soaked like this walking between your office and your car.”

Oliver got soaking wet because after he saw the doctor, he wanted to get some fresh air and clear his head. So instead of driving to the pharmacy to get the prescription filled, he’d left his car at the doctor’s surgery and walked. And yes, the fresh air was nice, but when he left the pharmacy it was starting to rain, and then it rained harder, and by the time he got back to the car… well. 

His impulse is to insist that there’s nothing wrong. That he’s just in a bad mood because he got caught in the rain.

But.  _ Stop hiding. You should talk to him. _

“Okay. Come on.” If he doesn’t do it now, he probably never will. So instead of heading for the shower, he leads the way to the kitchen, where he shrugs his wet coat off and hangs it on the back of a chair to dry. 

He sits down, reaches into his coat pocket and puts a bottle of pills onto the table between them.

“I saw my doctor today.” It’s taken him a while- weeks, in fact- to work up the courage. It went… well, it was fine. Weeks of thinking about what Richard had already said meant that, in the end, nothing the doctor said was a surprise.

Elio picks the bottle up, glances at the label and pushes it back across the table towards him. “Oh. So this is- these are something new?”

Oliver nods. “Of course. Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just thought- I mean, I knew you were depressed, so… I kind of figured you probably already took medication, but didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Wait, what do you mean,  _ you knew _ ? How did you know? I didn’t know.”

“I mean, well,  _ I knew _ . That’s all.”

How can Elio be so blasé about this? Oliver can feel himself getting annoyed. “How, exactly, did you know?”

“All sorts of little signs. Symptoms. You have really bad sleep habits. Your anxiety- I mean, that’s not the same thing, but the two often go hand-in-hand. And there’s this sort of- don’t be mad at me, I don’t mean this is a bad thing- this... flatness to you, sometimes.“

Elio apparently  _ knew _ , and that’s infuriating. He doesn’t even make an effort to hide it. “Oh, okay. So you  _ knew _ . I didn’t fucking know. What’s the point of living with a doctor if he thinks you’re ill and doesn’t even bother to tell you?” 

“That’s unfair. For one thing, I’m not a psychiatrist. And besides, I’m not responsible for monitoring your health. It seemed pretty obvious to me. I thought you knew and were dealing with it. I’m sorry I made assumptions.”

This has rapidly descended into a heated argument. Oliver is- uncharacteristically-  _ angry _ . “Fuck, Elio, how would I have known? I’m not a psychiatrist, either. You’re way closer to being one than I am! How could you just- just- hide this from me?”

“ _ Hiding it from you _ ? Oh, please, you’re ridiculous. None of this is my fault, okay? It’s not my fault you’re in denial, that you’re too repressed to even let yourself think about these things. I was just respecting your privacy. You were so cagey about seeing a therapist, and I figured you didn’t want to talk about any of it. But now you’re mad at me because I didn’t dig deeper, and try to- try to diagnose your mental health issues? Not my job, Oliver. Not my actual job, and definitely not my job in this relationship.”

“Well what exactly  _ is  _ your job in this relationship? I thought we were supposed to look out for each other. Does that not matter to you?”

Elio looks at him, anger suddenly gone. He grabs his hand, and Oliver goes still. 

He strokes the back of Oliver’s hand with his thumb, and sighs. “Yes, that matters to me. I’m sorry. I thought you knew. I assumed you knew, that that’s why you see Richard.”

And just like that, Oliver’s anger is gone as quickly as it appeared. “I suppose it is. I suppose I never put a name to it until now. There was always a reason before. For things not being right. And now I have no reason to be unhappy, so...” He drifts off, lost.

“So why do you see Richard, then? How did that start? Only if you want to talk about it, that is.”

Oliver gets up and stands by the window, watching the rain which still falls outside. It’s lightened up now, though, and the sun threatens to peek through the clouds. “I see him because… I don’t know why. I started to see him because Julie made me, when the anxiety got really hard to deal with. And it helped with that, but I suppose given this development-“ he picks up the bottle of pills- “It’s probably not really working. Therapy.”

“Do you think it still makes things better than they would be without it?”

“Yes.”

“There you go, then. It’s working just fine- it just isn’t the whole answer for a lot of people. Hence the pills.”

“I don’t know whether I even want to take them. Do you think I should?”

Elio shrugs. “No harm in giving it a try. Most people tolerate them well, but if they disagree with you then you can stop.”

“So you think I should?”

“As your partner or as a doctor?”

“Both.”

“As a doctor I would say that if you’ve spoken to someone more specialised in this field than me, who knows your medical history better than I do, then you should listen to his or her advice. If they recommend this medication, then I’d suggest you try it, the same way you would if they’d prescribed you antibiotics for an infection- and I would say that if you’re unsure, you should go back and talk to that doctor again. Read the patient information and go discuss your concerns and your other options. I’d recommend that, since you see a therapist, you talk to them about it too.

“As your partner, I’d say that given the fact that you’re not extremely unwell, it’s up to you, and I wouldn’t advise you one way or another. I’m here for you no matter what you decide is best. It has to be your choice.”

“What about if it was you?”

“Me? I’d just take them. Have done so, in the past. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

Oliver feels a flare of anger again. Just a small one. He turns back to Elio. “Fuck this. FUCK IT. It  _ is  _ a big deal. It feels like a  _ huge  _ deal, and you may have been here before but I haven’t. I wasn’t brought up like you, I didn’t have parents who were supportive about things like this. I am so- so sick of it all. Why is everything so difficult? Am I not due a break from it all yet? I just want- I just want to have a normal life and a normal relationship and be happy. I hate this so much.” He feels like a toddler with a wobbly bottom lip, trying to keep from crying.

Elio grabs him and squeezes him, hard and sudden. Oliver feels his fingers splaying out at the back of his neck and up into his hair, holding him tight and close. His head flops down onto Elio’s shoulder, eyes closed and hidden. God, but he loves it when Elio makes him feel small. Takes control.

“Okay. You’re okay.” Oliver feels warm and melty, contentment radiating from Elio’s hand on the back of his neck. “We’ll get this sorted. I promise. I’m here for you.” 

Oliver lets out a breath but says nothing, basking in Elio’s words.  _ You’re okay. I’m here for you _ . It takes him back to a sultry-hot day in a dusty room, a sickly-sweet smell and a boy feeling things he didn’t understand. Maybe Elio’s right. Things will be okay.

“So here’s what we’re going to do. Tell me if there’s anything you disagree with?” Oliver nods.

“For now, you’re going to go get out of these wet clothes and take a hot bath. I’ll bring you a glass of wine. You can drink if you take these, right?” Oliver nods again. “And when you see Richard you’re going to tell him all about it. You don’t need to decide about the pills right now, if you don’t want to. Does that sound okay? Do you want me to call and see if he can fit you in tomorrow?”

It does sound okay. More than okay, to have someone else tell him what to do. He nods once more.

***

While Oliver warms up in the bath, Elio sits on the bathroom floor with his own wine glass and talks about his day, occasionally drifting a hand in the warm water. Oliver listens, and feels warm and better.

“Okay.” Elio stands up and drains his wine. “I’m going to put these wet clothes to wash, and finish making dinner. Will you be ready to eat in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure.” Elio makes to leave, but Oliver has one question. “Wait. Elio. Can’t you just tell me what to do? About the pills?”

“No.”

“But you’d take them? If it was you?”

“I would. But I’m not you, and-”

“I know that. But you would.”

Elio nods. 

“You have.”

Another nod.

“When?”

Elio sits back down, dinner forgotten once again. “Oh. Um, well, when everything went wrong in my marriage, and then through the divorce and everything. For… two years, I suppose. And before that? A long time ago. When I was in college. Nineteen, twenty or so? I was trying to deal with a lot of things, and there was a lot of pressure, academically. And no, before you ask, it wasn’t your fault. I was still dealing with the fallout of you, still am, sort of, because it was important and it changed me. But you leaving didn’t make me depressed.”

It’s a relief. “I think I made myself depressed, though. All those years of trying so hard to feel nothing, and this is what’s left.” 

“This is something that can change. And-  _ look at me, Oliver _ \- you didn’t do this to yourself. You had a horrible childhood, and you’ve spent your adult life hiding who you are- again, not your fault. And you are- you’re intelligent, and sensitive, and you think too much, and therefore you’re probably naturally more prone to getting depressed. You didn’t make it happen. Things will get better. I promise.”

“How can things get  _ better _ ? What could be better than this? I have everything. I have more than I have ever had before. I’m basically living a perfect life. I’m happy with this, with you, I really am.”

“That’s the point of depression. It doesn’t care if you have everything or nothing.”

“The doctor said things might get worse before they get better.”

“True. But then, after that, they will get better.”

“Will they make me feel- nauseous, and tired, and all the things he said could happen?”

“I don’t know. It’s not very likely. There are possible side effects, but that’s true of any medication, and those aren’t things that happen to most people. And if they don’t suit you, you can try something else.”

“There are a lot of possible side effects. Reduced sex drive, for one?”

Elio shrugs. “Well, if that happens it might not be so bad. I could do with some time to recover. It’s been getting hard to keep up with you, lately.” Oliver smiles. Elio stands up again, and gathers Oliver’s wet clothes from the floor. “You want to talk more now?”

“No, I’m good, I think. Hungry, actually. Though I still don’t know whether I’m going to take the pills.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, either way. It’s up to you. And I’m not going to tell you what to do, so don’t ask me again.” He leans down to kiss Oliver before leaving. Oliver doesn’t let him go.

“I’m sorry I was mad at you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about this. Not as a doctor, but as someone who knew something wasn’t right.”

“No, you were right. I wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it. I was just feeling defensive earlier.”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed. It’s been a tough day, right?”

“Mmm. But this- this is good, now.”

“Good. But you have to let me go, or I’m gonna drop your clothes in the bath, and they’re wet enough as it is. Get dried and put some clothes on, and I’ll see you downstairs in ten minutes.”

He hands Oliver a towel, averting his eyes  _ because if I look I’m not going to want to go downstairs and get dinner,  _ and Oliver finds himself smiling again.


	7. Make it better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better.

Oliver sees Richard later in the week. “This is great. This has made my day. No, it’s made my whole week.” He rubs his hands together with apparent glee at Oliver’s news about his trip to the doctor. “I’ve been waiting years for this. Now we can get down to the really good stuff.”

“Really?” Oh, god. Oliver tries to hide his dismay.

“Oh, no, I’m just joking. Sorry. Don’t worry. In terms of what we do, it doesn’t change anything much, although things probably feel a bit different for you now?”

Oliver nods slowly.

“You look really uncomfortable, and it’s not just because of my terrible sense of humour. What’s bothering you most, right now?”

“I don’t know. All of it.”

“ _ All of it _ is a lot to deal with. So let’s break it down. Give me one thing you’re worried about.”

“People say that things will probably get worse before they get better. And I don’t know what that means, and it makes me a little bit afraid.”

Things do get a bit worse, for a while. It’s as though Oliver has finally given in to the problems which have haunted him for years, and it feels awful. This is the time when he should finally be feeling good about his life, but it’s quite the opposite. Everything feels strangely hopeless, and the worst thing is that there’s no reason why. 

At least Oliver himself can’t see a reason why. Richard seems to think it’s perfectly clear. “It’s a transition, Oliver. From clinging to the idea that everything is fine- which is what you’ve done your whole life- to accepting that it’s not fine at all. But you’ve already started to do something about it, and the work we’ve done together over the years is already paying off. Things won’t feel this bad for long.”

And it’s true. Because then, slowly and steadily, things get better.  _ Something  _ gets better, at least. Oliver finds it hard to put his finger on exactly what it is that’s improved. He tries and fails to put it into words for Richard. On the surface everything is just the same. He does all the same, normal, everyday things. But things are better. 

He sleeps better, and smiles more. 

“How do I know if it’s the medication making a difference, or not?” 

Elio shrugs. “You don’t. It could be that, it could be the therapy, or it could just be the right time for this to get better. It could be something else entirely. There’s no way of knowing. This isn’t like an illness caused by a bacteria- you can’t grow in a petri dish and see if the drugs you give it make it die. Something’s working, though, and that’s what matters.”

Oliver develops a strange urge to socialise, in a way he wasn’t wanted to for years. It’s as though he suddenly has the energy to be around other people, instead of getting constantly drained by even the smallest of interactions. It’s a good thing for both him and Elio. He reinstates his weekly dinners with Julie, for one thing, and some weeks it’s just the two of them but mostly Elio and Laura join them. He and Elio visit Simon and his family. Oliver’s boys come to stay with them at weekends, or he and Elio go to visit them. Oliver feels stupidly happy about making Elio a part of his life and his circle of family and friends. 

They’re still talking. A lot. This brand-new, 23-year-old relationship is just as difficult to navigate as you might expect such a thing to be. But despite its newness, sometimes it feels like Elio has lived with him forever. 

It takes him a while to realise that Elio doesn’t quite feel the same.

He’s just got out of the shower one Sunday morning when he hears Elio shouting from the kitchen. “Oliver! Phone!”

He runs down the stairs to answer it, dripping and wrapped in a towel, and afterwards he’s irritated.

He finds Elio, still in the kitchen. “You could just answer the damned phone, you know. You don’t have to call me to do it every time.”

“I guess not. It seems weird, though. To answer your phone, when you’re here in the house.”

“Why is it weird? You live here, you can answer the phone.”

“Yeah, but… this is your house. It’s your number. Nobody would call here for me. I haven’t really given anyone this number. People just call my cellphone.”

“It’s your phone number, too. This is your home.”

Elio leans against the counter, coffee cup defensively cradled in one hand. Oliver can tell that something’s wrong. “Not really. You bought this house, you paid for it. You pay the phone bill.” 

Oh. This is one of those discussions you’re supposed to have  _ before  _ you move in together. How have they managed to live together for over three months without this coming up? If this is bothering Elio, why hasn’t he mentioned it in therapy?

“Sometimes I just feel like… I don’t want to be your kept woman, Oliver.”

Huh. Now that Oliver thinks about it, this  _ has  _ come up before. It just never seemed to matter- when Elio asked how much he owed towards the bills, and Oliver just shrugged it off and said not to worry about it, suggested Elio pay at the grocery store instead. On one occasion Elio had been insistent, but Oliver had been busy and said they’d talk about it later, and forgotten about it. 

“Elio. Do you have any idea how much more money you make than me? I’d hardly say you’re  _ kept _ . And besides- you buy all the groceries. I thought we agreed we’re pretty much equal?”

“We didn’t agree to anything. We never really talked about it at all.”

Oliver takes both of Elio’s hands in his own and faces him. The gesture says  _ I’m listening. I know this is important to you.  _ And also, in this instance,  _ you’re right. This is a conversation long overdue. _

He lets Elio continue. “Sometimes I do feel a bit… kept. Like I’m just passing through, like all of this is just transitory. Everything here is yours, and I’m just sort of slotted into your life like an afterthought.” Elio looks down at their hands and laces his fingers between Oliver’s.

“So we’ll sell up and move, if you want.” It seems perfectly simple. “Or you can just buy half of the house from me, if we want to stay here. We can split the bills. Or we could stop worrying about any of these things, and plan the move to Italy.”

Elio looks up at him, shocked. “You’d- you’d still consider that? Italy?”

“Of course. Remember how you said  _ I’m thinking of moving to Italy, will you come with me? _ And I said  _ yes _ . I didn’t want to say anything yet, but I  _ may  _ have made some inquiries about jobs there. Did you think I’d changed my mind?”

“No, but- we haven’t talked about it since. We haven’t talked about any of this stuff before. Money and... things.”

“I know. I know we should have, but things seemed to be okay and... I don’t know. There were so many other things going on- it just didn’t seem like a priority. And honestly, I suppose I was trying not to think about it. I guess I don’t want to tarnish this, us, with real life, with the realities of bills and bank accounts and-”

“But I do. That’s what grown ups do, Oliver. In proper relationships. We have to do these things if we’re going to make it work out in the long term. We can’t pretend that this is some endless summer of shorts and swimming and lazy dinners and nothing to worry about.”

Oliver moves forwards, crowding Elio against the counter, and smiles knowingly. “Ohhhh. Oh. I think I get what you’re saying. Are you saying you want…” He pauses and presses his lips to Elio’s hair, ear, neck. Elio tilts his head back and sighs. “...a  _ joint bank account _ ? Would it make you feel...” he puts a hand at the bottom of Elio’s spine, pulls his hips close. “...good? Would it feel  _ so good _ to have my signature next to yours, when we fill out the form?”

He can see Elio smiling. “Oh. Fuck. Yes. Yes, I think it would.” Elio pushes back into Oliver and puts his hands on his shoulders to tug him closer. He moves his mouth towards Oliver’s, and-

“Great!” Oliver steps back. “I’m really glad we had this talk. I’ll just go use  _ my  _ phone, which  _ I  _ pay for, to call the bank, and-”

“Oh, no you don’t. Wait a minute. Not now, not-” He grabs Oliver’s towel to stop him from leaving, and it falls off in his hand. He looks triumphant. “Well, you can’t exactly call the bank while you’re naked.”

“True. Maybe I should do something else for now. I can call the bank later.”

“Good idea. Now where were we?”

He lets Elio kiss him, slow and lazy, with his hands on Oliver’s ass. 

The towel lies forgotten on the floor. “It seems unfair that you have clothes on, and I do not.”

Elio pulls his t-shirt off up and over his head in one move. “Is that better? Now I just have sweatpants. I guess I could take them off, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing anything like that here, on the kitchen counter. It’s not my house, after all. I just live here.”

“Really? Well, if it bothers you, maybe you should ask the owner what he thinks. He might be okay with it.”

“You don’t think he’d mind?” Elio plays along.

“No, he wouldn’t mind at all. Have you met him, by the way? I heard he’s fantastically good looking.”

“Oh, really? I heard that, too. But I also heard that he has a tiny dick, so…”

Oliver has a lot of insecurities, but penis size is not one of them. Nonetheless, he tries to look hurt. Elio tries to keep a straight face. They both start to laugh at the same time.

“It’s a good job I love you. You’re such a little shit, I’m not sure how I put up with you sometimes.” Elio is still laughing, head buried in Oliver’s shoulder. “You want to continue this here? Because honestly, I’d prefer to take you to the bedroom, where I can take my time with you.” Oliver offers his hand as he heads for the stairs. Elio takes it. “So. You want me to talk dirty to you about my finances?”

Elio laughs. “No. That can wait a little longer. Just kiss me.”


	8. Think about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver thinks about big questions.

“Do you ever think about marriage?”

It’s a topic that’s been on Oliver’s mind a lot, mostly because Julie and Laura got engaged last week. Oliver is thrilled- so much so that he considers it unlikely that any man has ever been happier to learn of his ex-wife’s plans to remarry. He’s spent two evenings over at Julie’s this week because he’s already been enlisted not only to walk Julie up the aisle (of course) when the wedding actually happens, but also to help organise an engagement dinner for a few friends.

So he’s been thinking about marriage- of course he has. Julie  _ may  _ have asked him if he’s ever thought about marrying again.  _ You know, properly this time. Yes, I know we were properly married, Oliver, but you know what I mean, don’t pretend you don’t.  _ Hence the question to Elio one evening.  _ Do you ever think about marriage? _

In Oliver’s head, the conversation continues thus:

_ Elio might look a little surprised. He sounds sort of shy, and more than a little tongue-tied, when he replies. “I… I guess. Who doesn’t think about marriage? When you’re in a relationship, living with someone. I mean… I know it’s only been a few months, but... yeah. Of course I’ve thought about it. Why? Do you…? Is this…?”  _

_ Oliver grins. “A proposal? I don’t know. It could be. Do you want it to be?” _

_ “Oh. God, Oliver, I don’t know. Is it?” _

_ “Right now? Well, you’re right. We haven’t really been properly together for long. Just testing the waters, I suppose. If it was, what would you say?” _

_ “I- I can’t tell you that. How can I say, when you’re not asking?” _

_ “Okay. But you’re not averse to the idea.” _

_ Then Elio would slip his hands around Oliver’s waist and kiss his neck and whisper, “No, I’m definitely not averse to the idea. Definitely not. Maybe not quite yet, but...” _

And okay, he knows that’s like something out of a cheesy movie, that it’s not at all the way Elio would talk, but still. He can imagine.

But that’s not how this goes.

“Do you ever think about marriage?” Oliver tries to hide the nervousness in his voice.

Elio scoffs, and doesn’t look up from the newspaper. “Yeah, I think about marriage. I mean, I try not to. For obvious reasons. But sometimes I do think about it, and when I do, I think about how I’ve been there and done that- twice- and it was a disaster.  _ Twice _ . It made me miserable, and it made the people I married miserable too. So yes, I do think about it. Sometimes. And then I think about how happy I am to be done with it.”

“Oh. Okay.” Oliver nods. He tries not to sound as though this matters, but he fails. It does matter. “That’s… okay.”

Elio looks at him, puzzled. Waits. Oliver looks away from him and starts putting away dishes. He doesn’t want to watch Elio thinking, to see his face as he realises that that isn’t the answer Oliver was looking for.

“Oh, shit. I-” Elio scrubs his hand through his hair, a gesture that means he’s frustrated with himself. He sighs. “It now occurs to me that the question you were really asking isn’t quite the one I answered. Oliver.” Elio takes his chin in his hand and turns Oliver’s face to his. “Oh, love. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean to sound so flippant about something that you…”

Oliver pulls away a little. “No, really. It’s okay. Makes sense, all things considered. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Anyway, I know it’s way too soon, I wasn’t saying- thinking- that we should- I just, what with Julie and Laura’s engagement and all, I got thinking about it, I-”

“No. Stop. Oliver, listen to me. Just let me think for a moment. I…” He takes a deep breath. “Do I think about marriage for you and me? Honestly- and this might not be what you want to hear, but I know you don’t want me to lie- not really. I think about marriage as something that didn’t work out for me. I was really, really bad at being married. The first time was just a terrible decision by two people who were too young and too stupid to know any better. The second time I got married I was sure it would last forever. I meant the promises I made to her, but it still all went wrong. I still ended up cheating, in the end. And yes, I know that me cheating wasn’t even the final nail in the coffin, and I know you can blame some of it on the circumstances, but it doesn’t change what happened. Plus, I’m aware that I’m not always rational when it comes to the subject of commitment. Honestly, if it had been a thing we could have done, and you’d asked me to run away and marry you when I was seventeen, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. How stupid would that have been? I know everyone’s stupid when they’re seventeen and in love, but still. 

“So marriage? A third time? Why risk ruining a good thing by doing it again, just for the sake of a piece of paper?”

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” Oliver tries to look like he means it.

Elio picks up on the flatness in his tone, and sighs again. It’s affectionate, though- sympathy, not frustration. “Oh, Oliver. Talk to me.”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” His smile is unconvincing and he knows it.

“It’s not fine.  _ Talk to me _ . Please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I just… it’s not important, Elio. I just wondered, that’s all. Was curious. It doesn’t matter. And now I know, so that’s fine. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Well, okay.” Elio strokes his cheek, and looks reluctant to drop this conversation. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” And they leave it there. But that doesn’t mean that Oliver stops thinking about it. He’d been thinking about it for a long time, actually. Because he loved being married. Both the idea and the reality- although, of course, his reality was somewhat different to most people’s experience. The thought of standing up in front of their friends and doing that, with Elio, holds a lot of appeal. The thought of wearing matching rings. The thought of… all of it. He thinks about it a lot.

But it wouldn’t be fair to Elio to bring it up again, when he’s made his feelings clear. Oliver doesn’t want to marry someone who doesn’t really want to do it. Not now, not ever. Besides- maybe Elio is right. Maybe they’d just end up ruining a good thing. Because they do have a good thing going on, a really  _ really  _ good thing that only keeps getting better.

So he tries to put it out of his mind. But Elio has other ideas.

“There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Oliver isn’t paying much attention. It’s getting late, and he’s struggling to concentrate on reading a paper by one of his grad students. The ideas are sound, but the writing leaves a lot to be desired, and he’s really having to pay attention to make much sense of it. 

Elio plucks the page from his hand and puts it down on the desk. 

Oliver pushes his chair back and stands up. “Is everything okay?”

Elio nods. “Sure. I just… look. Let’s sit down?”

Oliver follows him to the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said before.” Oliver looks confused. What on earth is he talking about? “A couple of weeks ago. About marriage. And- and I can tell that you still think about it too, that it bothers you. I feel like the whole conversation about it changed something between us. Not in a good way. And I feel like we didn't really talk about it properly at the time. Which- which was my fault, and I know that, I’m not saying it wasn’t, but-”

“Elio. Slow down.” Oliver is taken back to their summer in Italy, sitting around the table having a lengthy lunch with Elio’s parents and their friends. When Elio had something to say, he’d rush through the words, trying to get them all out in one breath because he felt like that was the only way he could get a point across. He’d confessed to Oliver that he felt like nobody really listened to him, that they treated him as the child of the family- someone without anything of value to add to the conversation. It’s a habit he’s never quite broken- when he’s nervous the words come spilling out.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Yes. So.” He stops. Take a moment to think. “I loved the idea of being married. For some of the right reasons- making an important commitment to someone I loved. And the second time round it seemed like a good idea if we were going to have kids, too. And- I know this will sound strange, but- it felt like a way to keep something. Like… an insurance policy against losing a person. Like a way of knowing that they wanted to keep me, too. But now, with you? I don’t feel like I need that. Which is a good thing. I already know that you want to keep me.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. Since you brought it up. I didn’t think it was something you’d be interested in. But I wanted to tell you. Um. That I do think about it. That’s all. No- wait, it’s not all. Because yes, I think about it, but it’s also- it’s not something I  _ need  _ for us. I could happily go on like this with you, forever.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s something I’ll bear in mind, then.”

Okay. Good. I’m glad we talked about it. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

Elio stands up and looks like he’s going to leave the room, but Oliver stops him. “Elio?”

“Hmm?” He turns around.

“Thanks. For telling me this.” 

Elio steps back towards him and hugs him, hard. “That's okay. It's… big stuff to think about, for me. For anyone."

"And I'm sorry. It was too soon for me to mention it. I didn’t mean to freak you out."

"No, it wasn't. It's important to be on the same page, right? If- if it was a deal breaker one way or another, it'd be better to know now rather than later. You can't just not talk about the big things, because they're big."

"True. Can I tell you something?” 

Elio nods. 

“You said that you would’ve married me at seventeen. I just need you to know that I would have done, too. If it’d been an option. Not marriage, straight away, but I would have made a commitment to something long term.”

_ I’m sorry,  _ he wants to say.

Elio sounds a bit wobbly when he replies. “It’s the thing I regret most, you know. That I didn’t ask you to stay, or ask you for something more, or even tell you how much it all meant. I never really stopped wondering whether things might have been different if I had.”

“I knew what it meant. And I wish things had been different. But now? I’m grateful that I met you, and even more grateful that we have this, now.”

He lets Elio hold him, in silence, a little longer. Everything feels peaceful. Oliver hadn't realised that the marriage thing had still been bothering him, but the relief he feels now tells him how much it had. 

“I should probably go to bed,” Elio mumbles into his shoulder.

Oliver glances at his watch. “Yes, you should. Don’t you have to be at work at six?”

Elio just hums. 

“Go on, get some sleep. I’ll be a while longer. I’ll try not to wake you when I come to bed.” He kisses the top of Elio’s head.

It’s a testament to how far they’ve come that going to bed separately doesn’t feel like a big deal. Oliver would love to leave his work unfinished, and he knows that Elio would love to stay up and sit and read in Oliver’s study while he works. But their life together encompasses two very different, complicated individual lives and it’s okay if they don’t spend every moment together- if sometimes, even, they don’t fall asleep and wake up with the other one by their side. 

When Oliver does go to bed, Elio is fast asleep, sprawled out on his front. Oliver fumbles his way into bed in the darkness, not wanting to wake him. He has to move Elio’s arm to make room for himself, and he stirs just enough to snuggle instinctually towards Oliver’s body. 

Oliver loves the messiness, the complications of this strange and perfect reality they’re finding together. 

He feels happy.

He closes his eyes, and quickly falls asleep with Elio’s hair almost-tickling his nose.


	9. Dillo in italiano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Say it in Italian_  
>  Oliver and Elio start to seriously consider moving to Italy together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE thank you to Joanlocked for the Italian translation. Have you read her fics? You MUST do it. You can find her work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joanlocked/pseuds/joanlocked).  
> And also big thanks for Redtulipslove for checking that it was clear what the Italian bits meant back in English. She also writes lovely fics which you must read. You'll find her work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtulipslove/pseuds/redtulipslove).

Oliver- standing in the arrivals area of the airport late at night- is bouncy with excitement. Also nerves, maybe. Because this was, long ago, a fantasy which he used to torture himself with. 

During that awful, awful fall, just after leaving Elio behind in Rome, Oliver dreamed of things that could have happened, if things had been different.

It was stupid. But he can’t help going over it in his head now.

Here’s how the fantasy played out. Oliver would have written a letter.  _ Can you come and visit me, when you have a break from school? _ (Theoretically, Elio could have written the letter. But firstly- he never did, not this particular letter, and secondly- for the purposes of this daydream, it has to be Oliver who does the asking. That’s an important detail.) They would have made excited plans, by letter and over the phone. Talked about all the things they wanted to do.  _ I’ll show you where I work, and the places I like to go, and you can meet my friends.  _ _ (I want you to meet my family.  _ But no. Thinking of that requires a whole other level of imagination.)

Oliver would stand in the airport, waiting for Elio. Not this particular airport, probably, but it matters little since one airport is much the same as another. Elio would've come through the automatic doors, looking nervous, and when his eyes met Oliver’s he would’ve grinned, and Oliver would have run over to help him with his bags. (In real life, he knows, Elio at seventeen would not have brought enough luggage to need anyone’s help. But this is a fantasy, and that’s how it goes.) They would have spent the days exploring the city, and the nights exploring each other again (and again, and again). And then, when it was time for Elio to leave, he'd say the things Oliver never dared.  _ I don't want to go. Let me stay with you _ . 

And maybe he could have stayed- or at least he could have come back later, to stay. There are great medical schools in New York- or at that time he may still have chosen to study music. Oliver had had the impression that it was a likelihood, back then. Great opportunities for that, too, in the city. If things had been different. 

Or Oliver might have said  _ don't go. Stay. Come live with me _ . Imagine that.

So. That was how things went, in his head. And here he is, finally, waiting for Elio in the airport. But things are different now. 

This time, Elio has only been gone for six days. But it’s the first time they’ve spent a night apart since Elio moved in, and it’s been difficult despite the daily phone calls and hundreds of messages. Oliver can’t wait to have him back.

Finally- Elio arrives, amid a throng of weary travellers. He looks tired, but his eyes scan the crowd for Oliver and he speeds up when he sees him.

Oliver opens his arms to hug him, and Elio drops his head onto Oliver’s chest, arms floppy by his sides. “I am so tired”.

Oliver squeezes him. “I missed you.”

Elio is limp in his arms. “Missed you, too.” It’s a mumble into Oliver’s chest. He feels the warmth of Elio’s breath through his t-shirt.

Oliver pushes him to arm’s length and looks at his face. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Elio smiles. “You could, you know.”

“I know. I just…” His eyes flit around the crowds. “It’s so busy. I don’t think I’m quite there yet. Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind. Some people never get comfortable with that. Even straight couples. Kissing in the airport isn’t for everyone. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“I know. But right now? Can we just go home?”

He manages to stay awake and chat during the drive but falls asleep, still half-dressed, two minutes after arriving back home, leaving Oliver to stare at him and wonder how he got so lucky as to have a second chance at this.

Elio is straight back to work the next morning, and he’s really tired for the next few days. But as well as being tired, he’s… different. It’s subtle, but there’s something about his demeanor. He looks comfortable with himself. Like he got taller. Calmer. 

Elio catches his staring too many times, and Oliver eventually tries to explain. “You look different, since you came home. A little bit like a tourist, like you don’t quite belong here. You’ve never looked so… so European. Well, maybe when I first met you, but not since then. I’m not sure I can really describe it. And-” it pains him to say it- “you don’t seem happy.”

Elio sighs. “I miss it, Oliver. Sometimes I miss it so much it hurts. I miss the language, and I miss the weather, and I miss the- the espresso, Oliver. Sometimes I could kill for a decent espresso. I love it here, I do, but it will never be my home in the same way. I come back here and everything feels so grey. Sometimes I don’t know how I’ve managed to live over here for so long. I feel so much more myself back home.”

“Elio. I said I’d go with you if you want to move there, and I will. Why don’t we really talk about it? It would be great for both of us, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. You have a lot to lose by moving over there. Your kids, your friends, your job- they’re all here. I don’t want you to end up missing  _ here  _ in the same way I miss  _ there _ .”

“I’m not just saying it because I think it will make you happy- I promise I’ll never do that. And before you ask me- nor do I have some strange, romantic idea that if we lived in Italy things would be the same as they were when I was 24. Hell, I wouldn’t want them to be. We’re both older. Things are different- both the things that we have and the things that we want. I miss what we had then, of course I do. If nothing else I miss having the ability to have sex several times a night.” Elio laughs. “But all of this is better. I want to go to Italy, and live there with you. I want that. Let’s do it. I want to move to Italy with you.”

“Okay, then. Okay. We should start talking about it properly. Planning.” Elio laughs in disbelief. “We’re really going to do this? You really, really mean it?”

So they start to have serious discussions. 

“Whereabouts do you want to live? How close to B., and your mom?”

“I don’t need to be really close. It would just be nice to be on the same continent, in the same time zone. At the moment it’s a full day’s travel, plus jet lag to account for. It’s not practical to go there for just a few days, and if I needed to go there in an emergency it could take a couple of days by the time I organised flights and so on. I want to be closer- but I don’t need to be in the same town, or even particularly close. If it’s a few hours’ drive away, that’s okay.”

Oliver looks for jobs. “There’s a great job in Rome. It’s… it’d be amazing, actually. It’s basically more or less my dream job. But I just don’t think my Italian is good enough.” He sighs in frustration. “I’m going to have this problem with any job in Italy, aren’t I?”

“Not necessarily- a lot of academic publishing is in English, and some courses in Italian universities are taught in English, especially postgrad courses. But living and working in Italy will definitely be easier if you’re fluent in Italian.”

“I know. I don’t think I’d be comfortable moving there with my language skills where they are now. I’m not going to be that asshole who moves to another country and expects everyone to speak his language.”

“So brush up on it, then. You have a tutor right here. And you can easily get some reading material.”

So Oliver reads Italian books. They watch movies in Italian, with Elio translating the bits Oliver doesn’t understand. It all helps. But one evening Elio comes home for work to find Oliver sitting at his desk, head between his hands as he pores over a dense text in Italian, rubbing his head in despair.

Elio stands behind him and runs his fingers through Oliver’s hair. Oliver hums contentedly, but Elio can feel his frustration.

“Anything I can do?”

“No. Yes. I just- I just can’t get this whole Italian thing. I can speak it, and I can read it, and I can write it, but it’s all so slow. And exhausting. It takes me so long to translate everything in my head. I feel as though I’ll never be fluent. And I need to be fluent to teach college students. If I’m going to apply for this job I need to do it soon, and right now I-”

Elio cuts him off. “Okay. Don’t panic. I can help with this. As your tutor, I promise that if you’re not a fluent Italian speaker in the next month, I’ll refund your tuition.”

Oliver can’t help but smile. “That won’t be difficult, since I’m not paying you.”

“Well, that’s not the point. Anyway- I have a plan. Simple but effective. From now on we only speak in Italian. No more of this half-hearted books-and-movies effort we’ve been putting in so far. No English is allowed in the house.”

“Starting when?”

“Da adesso.”

“Really? Now?” Elio nods. “Always?”

“Sì. Sempre.”  _ Always _ . What has Oliver let himself in for?

And that’s how they continue. If Oliver speaks to Elio in English, Elio ignores him. He corrects Oliver when his grammar goes wrong. When Oliver struggles to find a word, Elio lets him flounder instead of giving him the answer straight away. It’s frustrating, but his Italian is improving much faster.

Personally, Oliver thinks that Elio takes the whole we-only-speak-Italian-now thing too far. 

“Dillo in italiano.”

“But I  _ can’t  _ say it in Italian. I don’t know that word in Italian. I don’t  _ need  _ to know that word in Italian. Never, in more than 20 years of teaching, have I needed to say that word. C’mon, give me a break.”

Elio just ignores him, so he tries a different approach. He slides a hand into Elio’s boxers, only to have it swiftly removed and slapped away.

“Ci hai provato, Americano. Smettila. Niente trucchetti. In italiano, per favore.”

Oliver thinks for a moment. The gist of it seems to be  _ nice try. Stop that. Don't try your cheap tricks on me.  _ “Eliooooooo…” he whines.

“Italiano.”

“But I don’t know the word. I’m not going to remember it because I just don’t know it. I can’t recall something I never knew in the first place.”

“È un vero peccato, perché non ho intenzione di toccarti a meno che tu non me lo chieda in italiano.” There’s the usual pause, while his brain finds the translation, like the lag of a satellite interview on the news.  _ That’s a shame, because I’m not going to touch you there unless you can ask me in Italian.  _

Dammit.

Okay. He thinks of something he can ask. Keep it simple and ask nicely. “Ti prego, Elio. Toccami.”  _ Touch me.  _

“E dove vorresti che ti toccassi?” 

Oh. Where does he want Elio to touch him? That’s the bit Oliver can’t explain in Italian. He would’ve thought it was pretty obvious. 

“Qui.” He takes Elio’s hand to show him just where  _ here  _ is, but Elio’s not going to stand for that either.

“Stai barando.”

“No, it’s not cheating. You know what I want you to do.” 

“Ma riesci a chiedermelo in italiano? Farò quello che vuoi, basta che tu me lo chieda in italiano.”  _ Can you ask me in Italian? Ask me in Italian and I’ll do it.  _ Elio’s words become English in his head almost instantly, but sadly the Italian words he needs to reply are completely missing from his vocabulary.

“Elio… I told you. I don’t know the word.”

“Che peccato.”  _ What a pity.  _ Elio shakes his head as he sits up and reaches for something in the nightstand. Lube? Please, god, let it be lube. That’s what they need right now, not more talking. Oliver is hopeful that this means Elio has given in for now. Maybe he’s going to teach Oliver the dirty words himself. He can teach Oliver all the dirty words. Oliver will be the best student. He will stay up studying all night. He will-

But the item he takes out of the drawer is not what Oliver hoped for. He drops an Italian-English dictionary on Oliver’s bare chest before sitting up and pulling his jeans on. “Impara come fare a chiedere cosa vuoi, io nel frattempo guardo un po’ di televisione.” The words take a while to register, and then to make themselves into English, and even longer to make themselves believed. Elio is going to go and watch TV until I work out how to ask for what I want? Surely not. That can’t be right. He must have got the translation wrong. But Elio is about to leave the room.

“Elio, no. You’re so mean to me. I don’t need to know those sorts of words to live in Italy and teach in college. And I’m pretty sure that the word I want right now won’t be in this dictionary anyway. They don’t have the rude words.”

“Magari non ci saranno i termini colloquiali, ma per ora posso accontentarmi di quelli anatomicamente corretti.” Huh.  _ The slang words won’t be in there, but the anatomically correct one will do for now _ . That’s true, but… not ideal. Nothing kills the mood like a bit of anatomically correct language. Why use language at all? Since when has sex needed to involve so much conversation?

Elio doesn’t look back, and Oliver hurls a pillow in frustration at the door as he leaves, before flicking through the dictionary to find the letter  _ P _ .

***

But in the end Elio was right. Oliver’s Italian is suitably fluent in less than a month. He knows he’s cracked it one Monday morning when the department secretary greets him and asks about his weekend and he answers in Italian. There’s no longer a delay between hearing and speaking, no translation, just Italian words coming out of this mouth. Like it’s normal. That evening, he starts filling out job applications in earnest. 

And suddenly things are happening. They fly to Rome for a week, for an interview and to look at apartments, because  _ if you get the job, which you will, then we’re going to need somewhere to live. _

“I forgot what it was like. I’ve never really been back, you know. Just that one time, before I came to see you in B. three years ago. But that doesn’t really count, since I didn’t leave the hotel except for meetings. I’d planned to do other things, but I couldn’t bear to be here.”

“I lived here for a while. A year. But it didn’t work for me.”

“Alone?”

“No. With a guy. I… I don’t know. Something about it haunted me.” And before Oliver can open his mouth to speak, Elio reads his mind. “Not you. Well, yes, of course you. But other things. The parallel life I could have had. Remember the poet and the bookstore owner and the arty people? That life. The life I thought I wanted at the time. I did want it, but then… I don’t know. When you get grades like mine, of course my school had always suggested something academic. And to go into something in the arts you really have to feel it, you know? To accept that it’s going to be a struggle that you might not win, because you’ll be competing for work, for recognition, against dozens, hundreds, thousands of other people with the same passion. For every successful musician there are a ton of struggling artists who’ll never really make it. And I wasn’t sure I had enough passion. Now I’m even more sure of it. And I’m happy with my choices, but I do wonder. Sometimes. What life might have been like.”

Another parallel life, for Elio. Would that life have led them back together, Oliver wonders?

_ Yes. Of course. _

“And now? You think you could live here now? We don’t have to. There’ll be other jobs I can apply for.”

“I think so. With you. I’m older and wiser- wise enough not to try to forget, or even make peace with the not-knowing what would have happened. I know now that I’ll always wonder what might have been, but I’m okay with that. More than okay with it. It wouldn’t have been better. It couldn’t have been better than this.”

Then Elio does that thing he does sometimes, where he looks at Oliver, just for a moment, before grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing him, fast and rough. 

“You want to go back there?” 

Oliver knows where  _ there  _ is. They’ve been avoiding it since they arrived in Rome. He nods.

Elio takes him by the hand and leads the way. “It’s not far. A ten minute walk, maybe.”

Evening is falling, the light between the tall buildings blue. 

Oliver presses Elio against the wall, hands around each other’s waists, face-to-face. There’s no need for more. “Those boys. God, Elio, we didn’t know. How could we have known? We were so young. I miss them.”

“Me too.”

Elio reaches up and brushes his hands through Oliver’s hair. Smiles his bittersweet smile, the one that says  _ we wasted so many days _ . Oliver swipes at his damp eyes with the sleeve of his sweater before pulling Elio close. He feels the same as he always, always did. Small and warm and safe. When they pull apart, Oliver smiles and takes Elio’s hand in his own. “Okay. Come on. There’ll be plenty more time for reminiscing later. We have forever. Let’s go get some dinner.”


	10. Good together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise during a weekend away.  
> (If you think it might be some sort of sexy surprise, you're going to be disappointed. Sorry.)

Of course Oliver gets the job in Rome. Of course he does. He and Elio are going to move to Italy. Oliver has to say the words out loud, often, to convince himself they’re not a dream.

_ They’re going to move to Italy. _

It’s hard to believe, but things are happening.

There are things to organise in Rome, of course- they make another visit, plus endless phone calls and emails. But there’s even more to sort out here before they move. 

Julie cries when she hears the news. “I’m happy for you, so happy, but I’m going to miss you so much.” Oliver feels the same. He knows that this is the right decision for him, but he’s going to miss his family. Julie and the boys.

Alan and Ed are less enthusiastic. It’s not that they dislike Elio, because they don’t- in fact they’re becoming pretty fond of him- they just seem wary of this man who seemed to appear from nowhere and steal their father’s heart. And now he’s persuaded their father to move to another continent? This sort of decision doesn’t seem like something that the Oliver they know would do. They probably think Elio has bewitched him. Which of course he did, but it happened long ago, before they were born. He’s told them a little of his and Elio’s history, but they’re so young, and a love that lingers during twenty years apart probably feels unimaginable to them. (A little voice tells him that he could be wrong. That despite being  _ his  _ children they’re not  _ children _ . They’re more than old enough. And despite the openness they’ve always had as a family, this is not something his sons would be likely to share with him. It hurts, sort of, but in a good way.)

They feel like they’re spending almost all of their free time visiting places and people they need to say goodbye to.

One Sunday morning they’re sitting in a coffee shop. Elio wanted to meet some old friends in the city he lived in while he was married and it seemed like a good idea to make a weekend of it. A night in a nice hotel, time to wander around the city and see the places Elio used to go. 

That’s when it happens.

They’re discussing what to do for the rest of the day. “I’m in no hurry to get back. We can have a walk, then get some lunch and- Elio? What’s wrong?” Elio is looking past Oliver, and when Oliver turns around he sees why.

A woman has just walked into the shop, and she’s stopped just inside the doorway, staring at Elio. It takes Oliver just a moment to place her. Elio’s ex-wife. He feels a pang of guilt for recognising her from seeing a photograph of her at her most vulnerable. 

His gaze is drawn to the stroller she’s pushing. A little girl, maybe a year old. 

Elio stands up, and she comes over to their table. “Elio? I- what are you doing here? You moved away.”

“I did. I, um, I came to see some friends, to say goodbye. We’re moving to Italy. That is, Oliver and I. Oliver is this, here, um, this is Oliver.”

Elio completes the introductions and it’s… well, it’s awkward, but Oliver has a disarming smile which rarely lets him down, and Elio’s ex smiles back warmly.

Oliver smiles at the baby. 

Elio finally seems to register the baby. “Who’s this? Is she…”

“Mine. Well, adopted. I figured it was time to take matters into my own hands. No sense waiting around for the next Mr. Right. So here we are.”

“That’s- that’s amazing. And how are you finding it? Being a mom? And how did you- I want to know all about it. Do you have some time to catch up? Oh. Wait- is that weird?” Elio looks from her to Oliver and down to the child.

Oliver rests a hand on his back. Reassuringly, not possessively, despite the intense pang of jealousy that shoots through him. He saves that to unpick with Richard later in the week. “No, that’s not weird. I can go explore on my own for an hour.” He’d actually like a while alone, to process the strange turn this morning has taken. “Let me get you another coffee before I go.” He turns to Elio’s ex. “Can I get you something?”

By the time Oliver returns with coffee and cookies, Elio sits bouncing the baby on his lap. Oliver squeezes his shoulder as they arrange to meet back here in an hour.

Oliver wanders aimlessly through a park and finds himself walking past the window of the coffee shop just before the hour is up. He can see that they’re getting ready to leave, so he waits outside. Elio still has the baby on his lap, grinning at her while he wrestles her arms into her coat with a confidence that belies his inexperience with children. They look like a proper family. No doubt anyone else seeing them would assume that’s exactly what they are.

Oliver stands at the corner of the street and waits for them to emerge. But just before they see him, Elio’s ex-wife grabs his arm. “Elio. Wait. You should- you should raise her with me.”

“What? What do you-”

“Come raise her with me. She needs a father, and you- we could be good together. We were good together.”

Elio moves her hand from his arm, and places it on the handle of the stroller. “No. I don’t want that, and I know that you don’t really want that either. You’re saying this because you’re panicking and I just happen to be right here. Because you’re afraid of doing this alone. Don’t be. You’re doing a great job. Maybe someday you’ll find someone else, someone to be a dad to her, but you don’t need to. You can do this alone. She doesn’t need anyone else.”

Oliver shouldn’t be listening to this. He turns the corner to circle the block before going back to meet Elio. Elio is standing alone, waiting for him, and his face lights up with a smile when he sees Oliver.

***

They argue in the car. It’s a good place for an argument, because nobody can hide or get away. Which also makes it bad. 

Oliver is driving. If he wasn’t, he might not have had the courage to start this argument, because he would have had to look at Elio, which would make what he needs to say much more difficult. Maybe he would’ve waited for now, waited to see if Elio brings it up. But that would feel like he’s testing him- and he’s not. That’s not what this is about.

As it is, he needs to keep his eyes on the road, so this is as good a time as any.

“So did she marry again?” She doesn’t wear a ring. Oliver noticed. Well, maybe he didn’t  _ notice _ , as such.  _ Noticed  _ implies it was accidental. Maybe he checked.

“No. She’s single. She adopted. It sounds like it was kind of complicated but it all worked out. The baby is almost a year old. They looked so happy together, didn’t they? It was really nice.”

“That’s great.”

“Isn’t it? Is it weird that I feel really proud of her? Finding a way to get the thing she wanted?”

“No, that’s not weird. You’re not tempted to see if she wants to try again? The two of you?”

He glances at Elio. Elio is looking at him with an expression that’s both taken aback and thoroughly confused. “What?! Of course not! And not just because I’m with you. I wouldn’t want to anyway. I don’t feel that way about her, not at all. I’m certainly not in love with her. We don’t even like each other. And besides- the history between us is too painful.”

So. Elio’s not going to mention it. Which doesn’t mean anything- because why would he? And it's not like he’s lying, anyway. It’s okay if he doesn’t mention it. Oliver hasn’t asked him- can hardly ask him  _ did she ask you to go back to her? _

Oliver shouldn’t mention it. He shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. It’s not his business. Elio said no to her.  _ It doesn’t matter. _

“She asked you to raise the child with her.”

“Oh. How do you- you heard that?”

Oliver nods.

“Then I guess you also heard I told her no.” Does Elio sound defensive, or is it just Oliver’s imagination?

“Don’t you think you should have thought about it, at least?”

“There’s nothing to think about. I don’t want to get back together with her. I don’t want to be her child’s father. I don’t want a child at all. Why are we even talking about this?”

They’re not talking about this because Olive wants to know if Elio would have told him. It’s not because he doesn’t trust him, or wanted to test him. Not that. “Because I worry that you’ll regret it. I saw you with that child on your lap, and it looked so right. You could pass for her father- her biological father. You could have a real family together. Think carefully before you pass up that opportunity.”

“Are you kidding? Just because I sit for an hour with a baby on my lap, doesn’t mean I want to be that baby’s- or any baby’s- father. I have already passed up that opportunity. It’s not what I want. And what do you mean, a _ real family _ ? What bullshit is this? You’re saying you have to have a mom and a dad and a kid to be a real family? That you and me can’t be a real family?”

“I don’t know.”

Oliver doesn’t have to look at Elio to know that he’s angry. “Don’t mistake the things  _ you  _ want for the things _ I _ want, and don’t tell me what I  _ should  _ want. If you don’t think that the two of us are enough of a family for you, you need to say so before we move to a different continent together. If the family you want is here- Julie and your kids- then that’s fine. I can understand that, and I won’t hold it against you. Because- unlike you- I’m not going to sit here and tell you that there’s a right and a wrong way to be a family. But if that’s what you want, you need to work it out. And do it soon.”

“I don’t mean me. I’m thinking of you. I want you to have that chance, if you want to.”

“No. This  _ is  _ about you. You want me to have that chance because  _ you  _ assume that must be something I want. It’s not. Are you even listening to me?”

“Would you go back to her if you and I broke up?”

“No! Are you crazy, Oliver? I spent most of my twenties trying to replace you. I know better than to do it again. I definitely wouldn’t go back to someone I broke up with for good reason.”

“But things might be different with a child. Babies change things.”

“Having a child never fixed anyone’s relationship, and our relationship was more broken than most. But that doesn’t matter anyway, because  _ I don’t want that. _ I don’t see what you can’t understand about it? Just because you gave up a whole big part of yourself so that you could have yourself a little family with a wife and kids, doesn’t mean I want to do that. I’m happy with what we have. Don’t you dare think you know what I want or what’s best for me. Don’t you dare. You’re making this about you and your guilt.”

That’s exactly what Oliver’s doing. He’s supposed to be doing better than this.

He breathes slowly and watches the road stretch out ahead of him while he thinks.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not my place to try to make decisions for you or try to apply my values to you.” He puts a hand on Elio’s.

Elio sighs. “Oh, Oliver. It’s okay. I mean- it’s sort of not, but I get where you’re coming from. I promise you- if something is important to me, I won’t lie to you about it just because I don’t want to hurt you.”

Oliver exhales. Relief. “So can I ask you one more thing? And you’ll tell me the truth?”

“Okay.”

“Is it something you want? It’s something we could do, probably. Have a child. Julie and Laura have friends who’ve been surrogates. They know a lot of women. Or there are, I don’t know, agencies for that sort of thing, I guess. There are definitely options we could investigate.”

“You’d do that? For me?”

“Of course. If it’s something you want, it’s something we should look into. Sooner rather than later, because I’m not getting any younger. But I don’t want it to be too late and for you to regret not doing it.”

“Well, for one thing I don’t know if I can, Oliver. Biologically. I mean, they never found anything wrong, but I don’t know. And… could you?”

“What do you mean? I have two already.”

“I wondered if you might have had a vasectomy.”

Oliver looks at Elio, incredulous. “What? Why? Why would I need to do that? It may have escaped your notice but I’m a gay man. Accidental pregnancy is not something I have ever had to worry about.”

Elio snatches his hand from beneath Oliver’s. “Watch the road, Oliver! I just didn’t know if you and Julie used to have sex. You know. Just for fun. You were married for twenty years.”

“No, Elio. We didn’t have sex for fun. We shared a bed, because we had to. Because when we didn’t, for a while, my father found out from the maid and called me to ask why my marriage was on the rocks and to tell me to man up and sort it out. But we never had sex except to the get the kids.”

“I just… sometimes I find it really hard to understand that everyone isn’t at least a little bit bi. You never wanted to? She’s really attractive, she was someone you cared about. Loved. You never wanted that- that connection? There must have been times when hooking up with a stranger seemed like too much effort, yet your own hand just didn’t seem to be enough, and she was  _ right there _ ?”

Oliver laughs. “No, Elio. I never wanted to. It was never like that between us, not even for fun. I wouldn’t have known what to do, anyway. Trying to make it good for her would have been a stab in the dark for me.”

“Oh, Oliver. If you’re stabbing in the dark you’re not doing it right.”

Oliver rolls his eyes. “Back to the matter at hand- have a think about it. Adoption, surrogacy, whatever.”

“Is it something  _ you  _ want, Oliver?”

“I… don’t know how I feel about it. On the one hand, I love the thought of us raising your child together. Ours. But on the other hand, having more children isn’t something I have any urge to do. I guess things would be clearer if I knew what you thought.”

“I know what I think, but I don’t want you to accuse me of not giving it enough thought.”

“I won’t. Tell me.”

“I don’t want to. And it’s not just that I don’t want to go through the disappointment of trying again. It was something I wanted at a particular time in my life, with a particular person, in a particular set of circumstances. I don’t feel like it’s something I need or want to do with you. This is something different. You and me. Am I making sense?”

Oliver nods. 

“If it was something  _ you  _ really wanted, then I’d be happy to look into it. Although I’d probably take some persuading, and since it isn’t, then… look. I’m selfish. I don’t want to share you with a child. We were apart for over twenty years. By the time we had a child, you’d probably be fifty. Surely you don’t really want another baby at fifty? I haven’t had one, but I’ve heard that babies are hard work. Your sons are already grown up. You’ve done all of that.”

He’s right. Oliver loves his children, and babies are cute, but he doesn’t want to do it again. The sleeplessness, the incessant neediness of small children. The thought of doing it now… no.

He takes a deep breath. “No. It’s not something I want for myself. Not at all.”

“Okay. Good. It’s good to know we’re on the same page. Right?” Elio sounds relieved.

Oliver takes his hand again, and feels Elio squeeze it in his own.

***

Oliver feels strange when they get home. Something feels  _ off _ , but he doesn’t know quite what’s bothering him. It’s not the children thing- that’s actually a relief. It’s one of the big discussions a couple needs to have, and Oliver had been putting it off, afraid to discuss it given Elio’s history. But Oliver had wondered. Wondered whether it was something Elio wanted. Even- and he hates to admit it, because Elio was right- assuming that Elio would want that sort of family. Why hadn’t he asked before? Was he afraid of the answer?

Well, now it’s a discussion they’ve had, and it feels great to have it all out in the open. 

But something’s not right. And when they go to get ready for bed, and Elio smiles (perfectly innocently) at him while he’s (also innocently) taking off his jeans, something snaps. Oliver pushes him against the wall and kisses him roughly before ordering him to  _ get on the bed.  _ Elio complies, lying on his back while Oliver removes the rest of his own clothes. He kisses him with the full weight of his body pinning him down. Removes Elio’s underwear inexpertly, clumsy with desire. Kisses him and kisses him some more, not caring that it’s too wet and desperate. He’s touching Elio in all the places that make him whimper, putting his mouth everywhere. Elio’s hands are all over him, in his hair and on his chest and squeezing his ass, pulling him closer, panting when Oliver breaks away. 

“Turn over.” His voice is hoarse. Rough. Elio complies instantly, and Oliver’s just about to fuck him but- this is not quite how things usually go between them.

“Elio. Look at me. Is this okay?”

Elio nods. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.”

Reassured, Oliver doesn’t wait any longer. Holds Elio by the hips while he fucks him hard, knowing right away that this isn’t going to last long. Thinks about slowing things down, pulling out, going back to kissing for a while and- doesn’t. Can’t. Elio is moaning and he’s loud, really fucking loud- is he always this loud? “Fuck. Elio. You’re mine. Say my name.”

“Oliver- I- Oliver _. Oliver.” _

It’s hearing his name on Elio’s lips, half-muffled by the pillow, that has Oliver coming, hard and sudden. Breathing heavily, he tries not to collapse on Elio, to reach around him and take his cock in his hand and- oh. The stickiness of Elio’s hand confirms that he’s too late to be needed here.

Elio’s breathing is heavy and uneven. “Of course I already came. How could I not? You…” he trails off, and Oliver takes him by the shoulder and rolls him over onto his back. He blinks, wide-eyed and helpless. “You- well that was… unexpected.”

Oliver bites his lip, uncertain. “Is that bad?”

“No! No, not bad. Definitely not bad. Just… I didn’t expect it. That’s all. It’s not like you to be so… forceful.”

“You’re sure? You don’t mind?”

“No, Oliver. I didn’t mind. It was good. And before you ask- because I can see you want to- no, I don’t want it like that all the time. But sometimes. I kind of like it when you’re jealous.”

_ I kind of like it when you’re jealous _ . And suddenly it all makes sense. Oliver hadn’t noticed it before, because he’s never really had anyone to be jealous about. There was a vague jealousy about the others, all the others in the years in between, but seeing the woman who shared Elio’s life for so many years… it’s harder than he thought. 

They’re face-to-face now, and Elio strokes his cheek.

“You know there’s nothing between her and me. I care about her, and I’m pleased that she’s happy. Really pleased. But there’s nothing sexual, or romantic, or even a friendship between us. There’s nothing to be jealous about. I promise.”

“I’m jealous of all those years I didn’t get to have with you. And I worry now, still… there are so many different things you could have. I’m not making assumptions about you, again, or I’m trying not to, but- it’s just- “

“You assumed you knew what was best for me once before, a long time ago. And you might have been right then. But I‘m not seventeen anymore. Trust me.”

Oliver doesn’t know what to say. Why is everything always so difficult?

Elio sees him, lost in thought, and looks at him. His hand rests on the side of Oliver’s face, and Oliver can feel his stubble grazing Elio’s fingers. “Oliver.  _ Elio _ . I know you. I know your doubts, and your worries, and your guilt. And all of your insecurities. Insecurities- and that’s what these are. Insecurities. Worries that you’re not enough for me. You are enough. You are everything I need. This is everything.”

Oliver smiles as his eyes drift closed.


	11. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the time to move to Italy draws near, they pay a visit to Oliver's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I feel like Richard is the main character in this story. I guess he is the physical manifestation of the troubled inner monologue in Oliver's insecure head.

“He’s ready for you, Oliver. Go right through.” Richard’s receptionist smiles.

Oliver has a takeout cup of coffee in each hand, and when Richard sees him he puts his pen down and reaches out a hand to take a cup. “Oh, so it’s one of those kinds of sessions, is it? Well, thank you. Take a seat.”

Oliver does this occasionally. Bringing coffee is his way of saying  _ can we keep things relaxed today, and just have a chat instead of you poking at my brain and pulling all of my feelings out?  _

Richard will probably end up torturing him anyway, but at least the coffee will buy Oliver some time.

“You want to tell me how your week’s been?”

Oliver jumps right in. “Um, so, on Sunday Elio and I ran into his ex-wife.” Oliver tells the story, which is… fine. Nothing terribly exciting, really. Richard sips his coffee and listens and nods without asking any questions. 

But when Oliver’s finished, Richard is unimpressed. “Nice story. Sounds like a fun day out. But no amount of coffee is going to fool me into believing that there isn’t something more to it than what you’re telling me. You met the woman he was married to and it didn’t bother you at all? C’mon, Oliver. Talk to me.”

Oliver takes a deep breath. “I was fine, at first. But then I couldn’t stop thinking about… about how she had all those years with him. Years which I could have had. And I try not to think about it, because it’s enough to drive me crazy, but when I saw him with her I really wished things had been different. I love my kids, and I love Julie, and we had a wonderful life together. I’m not saying I want to change that. But the thought that I could have been with him all that time, that we could have had a whole life, a family together? It…”

Richard waits, until it becomes apparent that Oliver is hoping to leave the sentence unfinished. “It…?”

Oliver shrugs. 

“It made you feel…?”

“It hurt, and it made me feel really, really jealous. Which I hate, because it’s such a pointless way to feel, especially when it’s about something in the past, that you can’t go back and change. But it made me jealous, and possessive, and then, um,” Oliver feels himself starting to blush, “uncharacteristically assertive in the bedroom.”

They have an unwritten rule that says they don’t talk about Oliver’s sex life unless it’s absolutely unavoidable. It’s unwritten because Oliver has made the rule in his own head and never discussed it with Richard who… well, actually it’s probably fair to say that Richard doesn’t care.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad, just different. It seemed like an odd way for the jealousy to manifest itself. But you’ve said that I attach too much meaning to sex, and-”

“Whoa, wait a minute. Oliver. I have never, nor would I ever, tell you that you attach too much meaning to sex. It means different things to different people at different times. It can mean nothing or everything, and both can be fine. The only reason why that might be a problem is if there’s an imbalance between what the different partners think it means to them.”

“I… I guess I don’t mean that. Not exactly. I don’t mean what it meant  _ to  _ me, more… I mean that I feel like it signified something  _ about  _ me.”

“What do you think it signifies about you?”

“That I’m a jealous person. I didn’t think I was, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I think that you’re a person who feels jealousy. Is that the same thing as being a jealous person?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Richard just sips his coffee and waits.

Oliver knows what he’s supposed to say, so he says it. “No, it’s not the same thing. Jealousy is a normal human emotion and even if it’s not a nice feeling, that still doesn’t mean I’m immune to it.”

“Right. It’s completely normal. But it’s not pleasant, so let’s think about how you can manage that.”

“I didn’t like the way I dealt with it. I don’t want to be that guy.”

“That guy who feels jealous when he’s confronted by the reality of his partner having been married to someone else in the past? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being that guy.”

“That guy who reacts by getting all possessive?”

“Why not? What was it about that that you didn’t like?”

“I didn’t like… I treated him almost like I was angry. Like I wanted him to know that he was mine to do what I wanted with. It was not the usual dynamic between us.”

“And that made you uncomfortable?”

“Yes. No. I…”

“You think it made him uncomfortable?”

Oliver shakes his head thoughtfully. “No, um, he liked it.”

“I don’t see a problem then. But you do, so let’s think about why.”

Richard puts his coffee cup down and picks up his notepad and pen.  _ Let’s get down to business.  _

***

By the end of their session Oliver does feel more at ease with himself.

“Same time next week? We don’t have long left. When do you go to Italy?”

“Three weeks from now. I’m going to miss you when I’m gone.”

“I’ll miss you, too- and not just because of the check you write out for me every week. But I’m really happy for you. And a little bit smug, too, because you make me feel like I’m good at my job. When I think about the first time you walked through my door, back when I had that tiny, dark office over on the other side of town, do you remember? I could see right away that you really didn’t like yourself. And then everything came spilling out, and you cried, and you were so apologetic about it all, like you thought you were wasting my time with your problems. Honestly? My heart was breaking for you back then. You were so closed off from everything. I would never have believed that you’d get to be in a place where, most of the time, you’re happy with who you are. And I never would have expected you to leave everything behind and move to another continent. That’s a huge thing to do.”

Oliver grins. “In the name of love, no less.”

“Well yes, sort of, and that’s great- but it’s not the whole truth. What you’re doing is even bigger than that. You’re doing this for you, too, and that’s amazing. You’d spent so long doing things for other people that when I first met you you didn’t even know what you wanted any more. So to know it now and to make it happen… that’s why you’re my favourite client, you know. You’re a success story, and I like to feel that it had at least a little bit to do with me. I know it’s you who’s done all of the hard work, but you make me feel like I must be doing something right.”

“Your favourite client? You flatter me.”

Now it’s Richard’s turn to grin. “It’s true, though.”

“For so long, you were the only person in my life who knew about me.”

“And now look at you. A lot’s changed since then.”

“And now look at me.”

“You have to promise to keep in touch. I’ll worry about you if you don’t. And I want to know about all the fantastic things you’re doing. If you need to talk and don’t want to find someone new over there, I’m only a phone call away. It’s a good time difference between here and Europe, you know. Evening for you will be afternoon for me.”

“Maybe we should pencil something in. Just to check in after the first few weeks.”

“That’s up to you. You don’t have to decide now.”

“I’m going to see my family this weekend, you know. Before I move.”

“Taking Elio to meet them?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Do you think I should?”

“You know I’m not going to answer that. Have you asked him what he wants to do?”

“He says it’s up to me. Whatever I prefer. I feel like it’s a rite of passage I’ve missed out on- introducing a partner to my family. Julie doesn’t exactly count.”

“That’s an understandable thing to want to do, but be careful. Think about what you want from it, be realistic, and make sure you’re prepared for the fact that disappointment is a possibility. Your family are unlikely to have changed any of their opinions.”

***

Disappointment is not only  _ possible-  _ it feels inevitable. 

“I don’t want to do this.”

Elio’s driving today, and he reaches over to put a hand on Oliver’s knee. “I know. But I think you’ll regret it if you move away without saying goodbye to your mom.”

They plan to visit Oliver’s mom, then in the evening Oliver’s sons are joining them to have dinner with his oldest sister, Susan. Some of her kids and grandkids are supposed to be joining them, but Oliver’s not sure which ones. He probably won’t recognise all of them anyway. 

Oliver’s mom is in the hospital right now. Again. This isn’t really news- she’s old, and frail, and gets sick easily, but she always bounces back.

Oliver hasn’t seen her for six months, much to the chagrin of Susan, who has more or less become her caregiver.

“Susan, this is Elio. Elio, Susan.” They shake hands awkwardly in the lobby of the hospital. “So, how’s mom doing?”

“A little better. She should be back home next week.”

“That’s good.”

“Don’t pretend you care now, Oliver. Where have you been all these years? You almost never come to visit.”

The situation feels like it might escalate rapidly. But Elio puts an arm around his waist and looks at Susan, speaking firmly. “Now isn’t the time for this. Let’s go in and see your mother, Oliver.” 

In the elevator, Oliver looks at him. “How did you do that? You’re so… calm.”

“Don’t think I’m not annoyed about what she said to you, because I am. But tensions run high in hospitals. I’m used to speaking to anxious relatives who want to pick fights and place blame on one another. It happens a lot.”

Oliver’s mom is sitting up in bed, watching TV. 

“Hi, Mom.” Oliver feels shy somehow. He’s never introduced someone he loves to his mother before and this feels important.

“So this is him.” She doesn’t smile. “You’re the man who’s taking my son away across the ocean, so that I won’t see him again before I die.”

“Yep. This is me. Elio. Nice to meet you, Mrs Williams.” He picks up a file from the end of the bed and flicks through it. “And don’t worry, I’m sure this won’t be the last time. We’ll be back to visit soon, and besides-” he finishes his perusal of the file and puts it back, smiling confidently- “It doesn’t look like you’re in any immediate danger.”

She looks at Elio, and Oliver is pretty sure he sees something like respect. _If Elio had been her doctor_ _instead of her son’s lover_ , he thinks, _she would’ve liked him_.

Elio leaves them alone and goes to find coffee. Oliver sits down next to his mom and they talk about his sons for a while, about Oliver’s job… and then, out of the blue, something Oliver never planned on saying. “Why did you let dad do it?” Oliver wants to clamp a hand over his mouth, because he has no idea where the words came from or why they decided to spill out right now. But he doesn’t. He keeps talking. “For all those years. Because- because I know that you believed that there was no choice. I know that. But- I have scars, literal, physical scars from what he did to me. You were supposed to protect me, and- and- and love me.”

Oliver hates himself on so many levels right now. For speaking this way to a frail, elderly woman. For waiting until now to say these things. For being weak and needy enough to care, still, after all these years. He already knows she loves him, in her own way. That should be enough.

She reaches for his hand. “I know, Oliver. I know that. I should have done better. But things were complicated. He was never very interested in children, and by the time you came along we’d thought we were done with all of that. He just wanted a peaceful life, really. It was difficult for him, and you were so different to the others.”

“So it was my fault?”

“I didn’t say that. But you didn’t exactly make things easier on yourself. You were so quiet and sensitive. You seemed so strange to him. It wasn’t your fault, but all the same- if you’d have been able to be the sort of son he wanted, then it might have been better for both of us. I know he wasn’t perfect, but your father was a great man. He had a lot on his mind. It’s understandable that he didn’t have much time for children.”

“So you didn’t protect me because it was my fault? Because it was okay for him to behave that way towards a child who didn’t live up to his expectations?”

“Stop putting words into my mouth, Oliver. I said it was complicated. You don’t understand what it was like. And you did turn out to be, well, like you are.”

“You’re saying that, with hindsight, it was okay for him to have treated me like that, because I turned out to be gay? You keep saying it’s complicated? So explain it to me! I want to understand.” 

“There’s nothing to tell, Oliver. There is nothing I can say that will make you believe that me staying with him was the right thing to do. There’s nothing to discuss here.”

“But-”

She sighs. “Let it go, Oliver. I don’t have any more to say about this. I’m tired. You’ll come back tomorrow, before you leave?”

Oliver nods and kisses her on the cheek before he leaves. 

Elio’s standing outside the open door to her room.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough. Oliver, I-”

“Just leave it, okay? She’s right. There’s nothing to say.”

But Elio doesn’t leave it. He just seethes quietly until they’re both back in the car.

“Oliver. Listen to me. Your father was not a great man. A great businessman, maybe, but not a great human being. He was a drunk who hit women and small children, and he made people feel worthless. None of that was your fault. None of it. It had nothing to do with who you were, or what you did, or the fact that you existed. You are important, and good, and you are worth everything. You are a kind person and a great father and your existence makes a lot of people very happy. You are the best person I know, and I’ve known a lot of people.”

Oliver sniffles. Elio finds a scrunched up tissue in his pants pocket- “don’t worry, it’s clean,” and wipes tears from Oliver’s face.

“I want to go home.”

“Me too. But we have to go to dinner. it’d be a shame not to see Alan and Ed, for one thing. And I do want to see the house you grew up in, and meet your family. Even if they suck. I’m here for you, your boys are here for you. You can do this. It’s just one evening. How bad can it be?”


	12. What's done is done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The visit to Oliver's family continues.

Oliver parks the car in front of his childhood home with trepidation. His eldest sister is widowed now and has moved back in to care for their mother. Sadly, thinks Oliver, all of that caring hasn’t made Susan into a nicer person. She’s almost seventy now, but Oliver still finds her slightly terrifying.

The conversation at dinner is stilted, but Oliver expected that. And it’s honestly not terrible. Could have been much worse. Alan and Ed do their best to keep things lighthearted and Elio, to his credit, does wonderfully. His European charm shines through and his career is something that even Susan has to grudgingly respect. Every so often he squeezes Oliver’s hand under the table. It’s not the way Oliver would choose to spend a Saturday night, but it’s really not bad at all. He tells Elio as much.

Elio agrees, “But I really wish I could have a drink.”

“You could have one. Just one. Or you don’t have to drive. We could get a cab.”

“I think it’s too late. If I had a drink now it’d look like I just couldn’t bear to be sober any longer.”

It looks like they might get away with a pleasant-ish evening, when Susan corners Oliver alone in the kitchen. “You upset mom today.”

Oliver sighs. “I know. I just- there were things I needed to ask about.”

“What about what _she_ needs? Don’t you think it was selfish to bother a dying woman?”

“She’s not dying, Sue. Don’t exaggerate. She’s old, but she’s not dying.”

“That’s hardly the point. She was having a difficult day today even before you came along. Not that you see her often enough to know when she’s doing well and when she’s not. And your very existence upsets her enough as it is, all the time, what with the way you live. You could at least have waited until she was gone before you started asking questions about things which are best left in the past. Allow her to have some peace in her last years.”

“Susan. I get what you’re saying, but I’m done with waiting for people to die so that I can live my life as who I am. Mom might- I hope- live for years yet. But there are things I needed to ask her, things that no-one else can tell me. You know how dad treated me. You think that was okay? You’re a mother. Would you let a man treat your children the way he treated me? Please tell me you wouldn’t.”

“Things had to be the way they were. You were too young and self-absorbed to understand. Dredging up the past isn’t going to change anything.”

“Small children _are_ self-absorbed! That’s normal! You’re making me out to be an anomaly. I’m sorry I upset mom, but I had to ask. Just because I was too _young and self-absorbed_ to understand as a child doesn’t mean I’ve forfeited the right to ask now.”

“Why do you have to make everything about you? That was always your problem. _Poor little Oliver, such a terrible life_ .” Oliver notices Elio appear in the doorway behind his sister. He stops and stands still, wide-eyed in shock at what he’s obviously overheard. “Well, I wash my hands of you. I suppose you’ll be gone to Italy soon enough, and I won’t have to worry about you bothering us again for as long as things work out with _him_ .” _Fine_ , thinks Oliver. _Be petty. Don’t say his name_ . “Though if you even so much as _think_ about marrying that man, you need to get a good prenup. For Alan and Edward’s sakes. I know someone who can draw one up for you, who-”

Elio chooses this moment to appear, and puts an arm around Oliver. “Oh, you must give me his number, then. You’re right. If we got married, I wouldn’t want an impoverished academic like Oliver getting his grubby hands on my doctor’s salary and my villa in Italy. I’m an only child, so I’m not used to sharing.” Elio grins, and Susan, who clearly didn’t know that Elio was right behind her, looks horribly uncomfortable. Oliver fights the urge to laugh. “And before you say it- I know, I know, I should probably hold out for better, but what does money matter when you’re in love?”

Oliver speaks up. “I mean, he’s not wrong. He doesn’t stand to gain anything from this. I don’t have any money, not really. Academia doesn’t exactly pay much, and I got rid of the money I got from dad.”

“That just goes to prove that you can’t be trusted with your own finances. And you’ll get a lot more when Mom dies. Do you want him to get your children’s inheritance?”

Oliver can’t believe what he’s hearing. “What is this? Since when are we all just sitting around waiting for other people to die so we can get their money? Money that none of us even need in order to live a comfortable- _very_ comfortable life. Do you realise how twisted that is?”

“ _Twisted_? Don’t try to lecture me about what’s twisted, Oliver. You of all people have a nerve. Thinking about the future and how you’ll afford it is normal. It’s what normal people do. But of course you have no idea about what’s normal. People like you don’t.”

“I- what do you mean, _people like me_?”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. The way you live is an insult to all of us. To dad and everything he did for you. And a constant source of embarrassment to mom. Do you know that she changes the subject whenever people mention you? You’re going to kill her.”

Oliver has always been afraid of Susan, but he’s never seen her quite so venomous before. He takes deep, deliberate breaths.

“And as for your own children? You need to think about them, Oliver. Raising them in a proper family is the only sensible thing you’ve ever done. But it’s not fair of you to assume they won’t want an inheritance when you’re gone. And right now, they’re still young men just getting started out. You have no right to subject them to your lifestyle. Can’t you think of someone else, for once in your life? It’s your own selfishness that’s got you into all this mess. Right from the start there was something wrong about you. Dad could see it, you know he could. You always had to make things difficult for yourself. And now you think running away to another country with- with this man- is the answer? Those boys of yours are better off without you. You’re not right in the head. Someone like you should never have been a father in the first place.”

Oliver has only seen Elio really angry once or twice before, so by the time he realises that that’s what’s happening now, it’s too late to defuse the situation.

“Oh, just wait a minute. Since when do _you_ get to decide what’s right and wrong? You know what’s not right or normal? This fucking family. All of this money, and none of what matters. You know, really, that none of what you say about Oliver is true, so I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you. You can despise me all you like, because I don’t have to listen to this. I’m leaving. I’m going back to our hotel, and when we get there I’m going to fuck your baby brother until he sees stars.”

Then he turns around and walks out, slamming the front door behind him.

***

Oliver doesn’t say anything- mostly because he’s completely speechless. He just follows Elio, and finds him sitting in the car, trying to light a cigarette. He can’t get the lighter to work, probably because his hands are shaking so much, but eventually he’s successful.

Olvier sits in the passenger seat. He feels like he should have a lot of things to say, but he doesn’t know where to start. 

So he keeps it simple. “What are you doing? We don’t smoke. We agreed that it’s a disgusting habit and it gives you cancer.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Elio moves to put the packet back into his pocket.

“Wait- give me one.”

Elio raises his eyebrows but hands the packet to Oliver.

He lights up, and as soon as he inhales he’s coughing. “Oh god. I can taste how bad these are for me. I can just _feel it_ killing my lungs.”

Elio’s head rests on the headrest and he’s looking blankly out of the window. “You’ve forgotten how to smoke, huh?”

“It’s been years since I had one of these.”

“Me too. I mean, not years. But it’s been a while. I bought them yesterday at the gas station. Had a feeling I might need one this weekend.”

Oliver is still at a loss about what to say, so he sticks with the practical issues. “The car’s going to stink for weeks.”

“I know. But that’s probably the least of the things I have to be sorry for right now.”

Oliver shrugs. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

They sit and smoke in silence.

***

Neither of them say a word until they get back to the hotel. They’re not staying there for lack of space in Oliver’s family home but because _I will take you to meet my family, but there’s no way we’re spending a night under that roof._ Elio was quite happy to go along with that. 

The door clicks shut as Elio hangs up his coat. Oliver sits on the side of the bed, numb from the stresses of the day. When Elio sits beside him he leaves a few inches of careful space between them.

He takes a deep breath as though he’s going to speak a few times before he actually says anything.

“I… I am so, so, so, so, so sorry. Oliver, I- I don’t know what happened. She said those awful, awful things- all those lies- and I just lost my temper. I know that doesn’t make it okay. I was so far out of order. I’m sorry.” Oliver doesn’t know how long the silence lasts for. Elio reaches a hand over towards Oliver’s but doesn’t dare to take it, and sits on his hands instead as though to stop them from straying into Oliver’s space. “Please talk to me. Oliver, please. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Elio nods slowly. “Okay. That’s okay. Do you want me to leave you alone for a while?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just...” He shrugs.

“Are you mad at me?” 

“I… Elio, I really don’t know.” It’s true. His brain just can’t quite make sense of what just happened. He speaks slowly, thinking as he goes. “Maybe I should be. Mad with you. I think that might be one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life. It’s right up there with the time when my mom walked in on me getting a blow job back when I was fifteen. Which Susan also knows about. No wonder she thinks I’m- I’m- a sex fiend.”

“I know. I’m really, really sorry.”

Oliver ignores him. “You saying something like what you said to her is the reason why some people think that all gay men do is fuck each other. You’ve reduced what we have, in her eyes, to nothing more than sex.”

“I know. It was so, so stupid.” Elio has dropped his head into his hands. “Though there is nothing you could do or say to persuade someone like your sister that what we have is… what it is. She will never believe that two men can have a real relationship. Never. Even if we were celibate, she _still_ wouldn’t be able to believe that it’s not all about sex. It just doesn’t make sense to her, and nothing you can say will change that.”

“That might be true, but it doesn’t mean I want her to know what I do in the bedroom. And my- my _kids_ , Elio. My kids probably heard you too. Oh, god.” He covers his face with his hands. “This is- this is a nightmare.”

“Oliver, I promise you that your sister already knew what we do in bed. That’s a significant part of the reason why she hates it. And I know that you don’t want to think about it, but your kids also know what gay men do together. It’s not news to anyone. Maybe they did hear me, but I’m 100% certain they are going to do everything they can to never think about it again.”

“There was also a- a strong implication of who does what. Which is very much something personal between you and me. And definitely way more detail than I’d like for you to have disclosed.”

Elio rolls his eyes. “I get that. Are you ashamed of liking it when I fuck you? Or would you have preferred it if I’d clarified that we don’t always do it that way? I could’ve said _I’m going to fuck your brother, or maybe he’ll fuck me, it depends on what we feel like, or maybe actually tonight neither of us will really be in the mood, so we’ll just snuggle in bed together because he’s really into that_. Would that have been better?”

Oliver sighs. “I don’t know. I think that… if you had to list the things you never want to think about your parents doing, anal sex would come pretty high on that list.”

“It would…” Oliver can see him thinking. “Yeah, it’d be pretty near the top, I admit. I’m sorry. I really, really am. I don’t know what I can do to make it okay. I could go and see your sister and apologise for the way I spoke to her, but that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing for you.”

“Susan’s husband made a pass at me once.”

“Oh?”

“I was twenty-one. Old enough for it not to be predatory, even if he was more than twice my age. He- well, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think she knows about that, but I can’t have been the only one.”

“No, I shouldn’t think you were. But even if she knows, that doesn’t make her attitude okay, you know.”

“I know.” Oliver puts his head on Elio’s shoulder. 

“Are we okay?” Elio sounds nervous. Afraid to ask.

Oliver hums. “Of course we’re okay. I’m still mad at you for embarrassing me. But I don’t mind you being rude to my sister. She probably deserved it. And what’s done is done.”

Elio kneels behind him and rubs his shoulders.

“Was it as bad as you thought? The day, overall?”

“Honestly? It was pretty bad, yeah. Worse than I expected, in some ways. I thought… look, I thought that seeing my mom would be like some sort of deathbed reconciliation, that she’d apologise and tell me how much she loved me and- god, I sound pathetic don’t I? And it’s not like she’s on her deathbed anyway, but I feel like this was my last chance. Isn’t that how things are supposed to go?”

Elio reaches around Oliver’s chest to unbutton his shirt. “Maybe it’s supposed to happen like that, but it rarely does.”

“I guess I need to accept that there won’t ever be any closure, with either of my parents. There wasn’t with my dad, and there won’t be with my mom either. That’s… that’s really hard.”

Elio slides Oliver’s shirt off his shoulders. “There. That’s better. Relax.” Elio rubs his back and Oliver stops talking and concentrates on Elio’s hands.

“I’m really sorry, Oliver. It’s a horrible situation. I wish I could make this right for you, or tell you that it will get better, or something, but I think you’re probably right, and it’s too late for that.”

Oliver knew it, but it hurts to hear someone else say it.

Elio kisses his shoulder. “Okay, you. Go brush your teeth, then we’ll get some sleep. We’ll make a quick visit to your mom tomorrow, and then we can go home.”

Home sounds good. But it won’t be home for much longer. They move to Italy next week. 

***

Things are better in the morning. Oliver wakes up with Elio’s arm thrown across his chest, which is a good start to the day. During breakfast, Elio promises to be on his best behaviour when they go to visit Oliver’s mother again. “I swear I’ll be good, I will.” And of course in a few hours they’ll be leaving Oliver’s family behind- probably for a considerable time.

Oliver feels a tap on his shoulder as he waits for Elio to check out. He turns around, and recognises her at once, even though it must be more than 20 years since he last saw her, working as a maid in his parents’ house. “Victoria?”

“Oliver? Is it really you?”

“Yes, I- this is unexpected. How are you?” 

They exchange pleasantries, and Elio is introduced. 

“I still worked for your parents until about ten years ago. Now I have a job here. I just finished for the day. Do you have a few minutes to catch up? I’d love to hear how you’ve been doing.”

They take a seat in a quiet corner of the lobby. He asks about her family and Oliver gives a summary of what’s happened in his own life recently. 

“You’ve done so well, Oliver. We always knew you would.”

“Can I ask you something?” At least _someone_ might give him answers about _something_ this weekend. “At my parents’ house- why did you stay? I always wondered. You could have got a job somewhere else.”

“Plenty of reasons. You remember my son?”

Oliver nods.

“You and he were the same age. Used to play together when you were no more than babies. Of course that had to stop when you got a bit bigger. It wouldn't do for the likes of you to be friends with a maid’s son. Anyway. I needed the job, and I needed the money. Weren't many other jobs around here for a high school dropout who was pregnant at sixteen- your parents only gave me a chance because my own mother had worked for them for so many years. And apart from your father’s temper it was a good job. Paid well. And your father was a better man to work for than a lot of men would have been. He may have hit us, but there are far worse things a rich man might do to the girls who work in his house. At least my son’s daddy was my high school sweetheart and not your father. Plenty of men like you have a few little half brothers and sisters running around the place. James was never like that.”

Oliver’s father may have beaten women, but at least he didn’t rape them. It’s pretty sad that that’s the nicest thing she has to say about him.

She continues. “Nor your big brothers, come to that. Nice boys. And not you, either, although we know now that wouldn't have interested you anyway. I sometimes wondered about your father, whether he might have been that way inclined. You know they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But, well, probably not. He didn’t seem motivated by sex at all, to be honest.”

Victoria reaches out to him and covers his hand with her own. “So I stayed for the job and the money, yes. And I enjoyed the company of the people I worked with, the other girls. But mostly? Oliver. You were the sweetest little boy. And you had nobody to look after you. Your mother, God bless her, was no use. She was too busy trying to hold herself together. And after your poor sister Jessica got sent away to school, well, who was there then to look out for you? We were all pleased to see her go, she was safer there than she would have been in that house. Your father just kept getting worse as he got older. He drank more. More angry. Maybe I could have got another job. But we stayed for you.” She rubs her thumb over the back of his hand. “Now don't you be crying, Oliver. There's no need for that. We loved you. And if we could do our best to keep things running smoothly, to keep your father happy, then we hoped things might be easier on you. I think we did. Me and the other staff? We stayed for you.”


	13. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for some goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Rae for looking over some of this chapter!

After leaving the hotel Oliver wishes they could just head home. He’s drained and wrung out. But he said he’d go back to see his mom, and despite what she might think about him, he is a man of this word. So here they are at the hospital again.

There’s no Susan there today, thankfully. But as they walk down the corridor there’s a cackle of laughter from his mother’s room, and they walk in to find her and a visitor both giggling like schoolgirls.

“Hi, mom. Are we interrupting?” He can’t help but notice that she looks much better today. There’s an energy to her which wasn’t there yesterday. 

“No, no, not at all. Annie was just getting ready to leave. Annie, this is Oliver, my youngest. The nice one.”

Oliver looks confused. “The nice one?”

“Well, compared to all the rest of them.”

“Oh. Right.” That seems fair. Unexpected, but probably true.

Annie laughs again and heads for the door. “Anyway. It was nice to meet you.” She looks back at Oliver’s mom and waves. 

“Send me one of those, you know, message thingies. On the phone. And we’ll go for lunch on Wednesday, yes? I’ll be ready for a glass of wine after being stuck in this place for a week.”

Oliver takes a seat by the bed, and gestures for Elio to do the same. “She seems nice.”

“Annie? Oh, yes. She brings me books. I’m always running out of books in here. We’re going on a cruise, you know.”

“You- you are? Is that a good idea?”

“Whyever not? I’m going to be ninety soon. I need to do these things while I still can.” Her eyes narrow. “Or is this about the money? I thought you were better than that.” 

“I- no! It’s not about spending money. Spend all the money you like. I just wondered if you’re well enough to go travelling.”

“Oh, now you sound like Susan. That girl drives me crazy, you know. Coming into the hospital is a well deserved break from her nagging.  _ Don’t overdo it! Don’t spend too much money! Don’t go on vacation!  _ I tell you, if you lived with Susan you’d need a vacation too. She’s well-meaning but she’s a very unhappy, difficult person. I’m sure it’s my own fault, so I suppose I must accept this as my punishment for being a bad parent. But wish she’d move out. I don’t need looking after all the time, you know.”

It’s just occurring to Oliver that maybe he wasn’t the only one to be set free by his father’s death.

“And speaking of Susan- you made her very upset, you know, young man.” She glares at Elio.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to her like that.”

“You should not. It was very rude of you. There was no need for the sort of language you used. But I don’t doubt that she deserved it and heavens, I do wish I could’ve been there to see it. It must have been quite a sight.”

Elio grins before quickly trying and largely failing to look serious. Oliver gives him a stern look. “I don’t know about that, mom. Anyway- you seem better today?”

His mom always seemed so helpless. He remembers her as being tired and fragile, even when he was a child, and now she’s old enough that that’s almost to be expected. But today? She looks positively cheerful.

She sighs. “Yesterday was a bad day, Oliver. I hadn’t slept well, and Susan was in a bad mood about you visiting, and you said… well. You caught me off-guard. But today is better, and I’m going home tomorrow.” There’s a determined edge to her, as though she’s steeling herself for this conversation. “In the meantime, you can introduce me properly to your young man.” 

So Oliver does, and she asks Elio questions about his job and his parents. 

“I presume you don’t have children, given that you’re, well, the way you are.”

“I-” He swallows. “I haven’t always been with men. I was married, actually. I had a son, but he was stillborn.”

“Oh.” She looks at him sadly. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It’s a terrible thing to live with. I lost one, like that. Another little girl, about a year after Jessica was born. We didn’t think we’d have more after that, but Oliver came along anyway.”

Oliver is shocked. “Mom. I didn’t know.”

“Well, people didn’t talk about such things back then. It was something to get over and forget about.” She shalks her head. “As if you could ever forget about such a thing. It’s good that people talk about it now.” She thinks for a moment. “But enough of loss, for now. We don’t have much time, and you haven’t even told me about your parents yet.”

Oliver has an idea in his head of what introducing a partner to your parents is supposed to look like, and this isn’t it. But it’s pretty close, and definitely not awful.

Mostly not awful, at least. “What you’re doing and the way you’ve chosen to live is wrong, there’s no doubt about it. Nothing you can say will change my mind. I’m very disappointed, Oliver, but if you must live like this then he seems like a good choice.” She turns back to Elio. “You’re Jewish, yes?”

“Born Jewish, yes, but I don’t consider myself a believer any more. I’ve seen a lot of things in my work which I can’t reconcile with the idea of a God.”

“That’s no excuse. There are a lot of Jewish doctors. My husband was always disappointed that none of our children wanted to become a doctor.  _ They can’t all inherit the business, he said. We could do with a doctor in the family _ . I think he felt it was a bit of a shortcoming, to be honest. Having a doctor for a son impresses everyone.”

“I know, but it’s not just that. Other things, too. It just doesn’t really make any sense to me any more.”

“Hmm. Well, that’s a pity. Oliver’s father was never much of a believer either. I think he got that from  _ his  _ father. You know he wasn’t a proper Jew?”

Elio looks at Oliver, puzzled.

Oliver rolls his eyes, because he’s heard this story before. “Mom, it wasn’t that he wasn’t a  _ proper Jew _ . And even if that was true,  _ dad  _ was born Jewish, so your argument doesn’t make sense.” He turns to Elio. “ My father’s father wasn’t born Jewish. He converted so that he could marry my grandmother. That’s why we don’t have a Jewish name. Have we never talked about this?”

Elio shakes his head. It kind of makes sense that they haven’t, given that they skipped the getting-to-know-you phase and went straight to living together. There must be so many things they still don’t know about each other.

Oliver’s mom jumps back in. “It was quite the scandal, you know. It wasn’t the done thing- both of their parents were opposed to it. But he was hopelessly in love with her. Her faith was important to her and he said  _ well, if it’s what you believe then it must be right.  _ He became very devout- but of course he wasn’t born to it, so it’s not the same.”

“Mom, I don’t think it works like that-”

She suddenly looks tired, and sits back against the pillows.

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” She points to Elio decisively. “You’re Jewish, regardless of whether you believe. That’s good enough for me. And you can never tell what children will get from their parents. James’ parents were so in love, such good people, yet he was so difficult. And then look at Oliver! Nothing like his father. Maybe all of that love skipped a generation.” 

Elio smiles.

There’s a silence, and Oliver looks at his watch. Have they really been sitting here for so long? He sounds hesitant-  _ is  _ hesitant when he says “We should be going soon.” 

“You should come visit us in Italy.” Elio is not speaking hesitantly. He’s positively enthusiastic. “You can bring Oliver’s baby pictures.” He- did Elio just  _ wink  _ at Oliver’s mother? This weekend just keeps getting stranger.

“It’s very kind of you to invite me. I would like to meet your mother. I know that your parents were very kind to Oliver, and I appreciate that more than you know. But it’s a very long way. Too far, I think, for me. And maybe it’s best for Oliver if I’m not a part of this new start.” She looks at Elio, imploringly. “Are you in love with my son?”

Oliver looks aghast. “Mom! You can’t ask him that!”

Elio ignores him and nods. “Yes.”

“And you’ll look after him? He may not look it, but he’s a sensitive boy, you know. He needs someone to take care of him.”

“I know. Of course. I promise.” He takes her hand between both of his.

“There are things I can’t talk to him about. Things I wish I could say, and questions he deserves the answers to, even though I don’t know what some of those answers are.” Oliver is about to speak, but Elio glances over at him.  _ Not now _ . “I wish things had been different for him. He thinks that I wish he was a different person, but I don’t. I hope that someday he believes that. Oliver was always the best of all my children, you know. I don’t love him more than the others, of course not, but he was always the good one.” Oliver listens, knowing that this is the closest his mother can come to telling him these things herself. 

“Next time you must come to visit when I’m home. I can show you the photographs then. Or maybe I’ll have checked myself into a nursing home by then, just to be rid of Susan. Don’t tell her I said that, though. I don’t want to give her ideas.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of Susan speaking to me about anything any time soon.”

She laughs. “You’re right about that! I told Annie all about it. We were still laughing about when you came in here. Susan doesn’t like her, you know. Thinks she’s a bad influence.” 

Olvier thinks that’s probably true, but maybe it’s time his mother had a bad influence in her life. 

The hugs exchanged before they leave are short- which is to be expected because Oliver’s family aren’t big on physical affection. But it doesn’t matter.

***

“How are you feeling? This weekend has been a lot to take in.” Elio pulls out of the parking space. They’re going home.

“Today was better. Today was good.”  _ Good  _ isn’t an exaggeration, a fact which surprises Oliver. 

“I thought so too.”

“Does it matter that, after everything, I don’t think me and my mom are ever going to be close?”

Elio sighs. “I don’t know. Does it matter to you? I think what she said today is the closest she’s ever going to come to talking about it. I don’t think you’ll ever get the answers you’re looking for. Things are complicated. Why didn’t she do more, when you were a kid? I don’t know, but I do know that a lot of people stay with abusive partners, even when there are kids involved. Out of fear, maybe, or love, or hope… probably a bit of all of those reasons. There’s no easy answer, and I’m not in a position to judge.”

“I know what my dad was like. I based some of my biggest life choices on fear of him and what he might do. And, yes, because I wanted his approval. I feel so guilty, sometimes, for blaming my mom for what happened to me. Being married to him can’t have been easy.”

“Oliver. I don’t know much about it, but I think that’s normal, and I don’t think you can get rid of those childhood feelings of needing her to protect you. Even if you can understand that she felt powerless to stop it, that doesn’t mean you have to forgive her. I’m not even sure that she’d want you to now.”

Maybe Elio’s right. The guilt of the choices she made- even the ones that didn’t feel like a choice- is something she thinks she deserves to live with. 

“And she even gave you her approval, a little bit.”

“What do you mean? Because you’re Jewish?”

“She approves of that, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Think about it- would your sister ever ask if I was in love with you?”

“No, because she’s never going to speak to you again because you were incredibly rude to her and she probably hates you and also thinks you’re some sort of depraved sex fiend.”

“Not that! Well, sort of that, a bit. But the main reason Susan would never ask if I was in love with you is because she doesn’t think two men can be in love, can have that sort of relationship. Your mom does, though. Otherwise she wouldn’t have asked.”

Huh. Oliver hadn’t thought of it like that.

“That’s… that’s pretty big. Huge, actually.” 

“Right? She doesn’t think you’re just a sexual deviant.” Elio laces their fingers together. “Oliver- she will always think that what we’re doing is ‘wrong’. But she recognises that it’s about love, and that’s… that’s pretty amazing, all things considered. It may not be enough for you, and that’s fine. But it’s-”

“No, it is enough. I really think it is. You know what, Elio? I think I might actually be happy with this. Truly  _ happy _ , not just okay with it.”

Elio picks up his hand and kisses it. “Good.”

***

Julie drives them to the airport. The day is grey in New York, but a quick check on Oliver’s phone tells him that tomorrow in Rome is forecast to be clear and bright. 

She waits around while they check in their bags, and walks with them towards security.

Oliver stops. “Well. I guess this is it.” He pulls Julie to one side, away from the flow of passengers hurrying along, and takes her in his arms.

He knows he’s going to cry, and takes a moment to try to stop it- before deciding that in an airport anything goes.

He squeezes her harder. “I am going to miss you so much.”

“I think I might miss you even more. Every week when you don’t come round for dinner I’m going to cry.” 

They’re both crying now. A lot. “You’ll be fine. You have Laura, and the boys are nearby.”

“But I won’t have you. You are the great straight love of my life, Oliver.”

“And you of mine. We had a great life together. We were one of the happiest married couples I know of. Weren’t we?”

“We were. We made a great team and we raised two fantastic kids. It hurts just to think about how much I’ll miss you. I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Am I doing the right thing? Sometimes I wonder if I can bear to be so far away from you and the boys, for so long. You’ve been my best friend, my confidante, my everything, for so many years. Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Julie wipes her eyes. “You’re doing the right thing, and you know it. Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it. Of course I’m happy for you, of course I am. You deserve everything. I love you too. Can I tell you a secret?”

Oliver nods.

“When your dad died, the reason I ended things so quickly wasn’t because I was worried you’d stay forever if I didn’t pretty much throw you out. It was because I didn’t want to have the chance to think about it too much and decide that we should stay together. It would have been so easy to just keep going as we were.”

“It would. And it might not have been a bad way to live. But we both have something better now.”

She sobs, and Oliver clings to her until they both manage to collect themselves. When Julie leaves, she turns and waves before going through the doors to the parking lot. Smiles, even though Oliver knows she’s going to sit and cry in the car.

A woman, probably about his own age, looks at him kindly. “You going to be okay, honey? It looks like you’re really going to miss your wife.”

“Ex-wife, actually. And yes, I will. Very much.” She tries to hide her surprise, as Oliver continues, “I know that sounds weird.”

He looks at Elio and they laugh. “It’s kind of a long story.”


	14. Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to New England 3 years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning for reference to vomiting due to drunkenness)  
> Thank you for joining me on this journey. it's been almost 3 years since I started posting These Parallel lives, and over a year since i started posting this 'epilogue' which became a 35,000 word sequel.  
> I never expected this story to get so... long. I'm very impressed with myself to be honest.  
> If you are reading this now, after following along patiently for literally YEARS, then please let me know what you thought.  
> If you are reading this some time in the distant future, know that your comments will always be much appreciated and that I will be thrilled if this story is still getting read.  
> Look out for my erectile dysfunction fic in the not-too-distant future!  
> If you want updates and microfics you can find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> Love and thanks to you all xxxx

_October 2015_

This trip has been a long time in the planning- at least as far as Oliver’s concerned.

On the face of it they’re here to visit Oliver’s mother and sons and do some touristy things too, because why not? That’s a thing people do when they come back to their home country after a long absence. It’s been over a year since they last visited.

But there’s more to it than that, although Elio doesn’t know it. The real reason for the trip, all of the planning and the subterfuge, is happening today, and Oliver is so nervous he can hardly sit still. 

He parks the rented car in the parking lot he walked to and from every day for twenty years. 

Elio is happy. He’s enjoying the vacation and looking forward to seeing Julie, Laura and the boys this evening.

Some men would feel jealous, but Elio’s happy about the close relationship Oliver and Julie still enjoy. _“You get something from her that I cannot give you. You raised two kids together, Oliver. That’s a different bond to the one you and I have, and it’s not something I feel threatened by.”_

_“But-”_

_“No, it’s not a criticism of you, or of us. But you need to spend time with her. We both need to spend time with other people. We can’t be one of those couples who spend all their time together and then break up. We need our own space, our own friends. And I consider Julie a friend, too, but she’ll always be yours more than mine. And that’s okay.”_

But that’s for a little later. Elio grabs his hand and swings it as they walk along towards the Classics building. “So this is pretty weird, huh? Remember that day when I-”

Oliver cuts him off. _That day_ is kind of the point of this whole trip, although Elio doesn’t know it yet.

“Of course I remember. You had a beard.”

“I did! I’d forgotten about that.” He laughs and strokes his own face. There’s a day’s worth of stubble there, but you have to squint to see it. Oliver knows what it feels like, and has to resist the urge to reach up and touch it himself. "That beard was hard-won. I never was good at growing facial hair."

Oliver has told Elio that they’re here today to revisit Oliver’s old stomping ground and to go for drinks with some of his old colleagues. Which is a lie, although Oliver is hoping that he can meet up with them tomorrow.

Oliver leads him down the hall. The lecture theater is dark, but he flicks on the lights before pulling Elio into the room behind him. Elio raises his eyebrows, his question obvious. _What are we doing here?_

Oliver takes a deep breath. Is Elio going to think this is stupid? Suddenly the whole thing seems ridiculous. A huge mistake. Elio will be polite but secretly pity him for his idiotically sentimental-

Richard’s voice interrupts him in his head, as it still often does. _Stop panicking. You know him. Know yourself. And even if- worst case scenario- he doesn’t quite get it, it matters to you and that’s more than enough._

Okay. Another deep breath. “So I, um, brought you here to ask you something.”

“Oliver.” Elio squeezes his hand, his voice gentle. “If it’s the thing you’ve asked me before, then you know what I’m going to say.”

He does. Oliver has proposed not once, not twice, but three times. And although he’s never been turned down, as such, Elio hasn’t said yes either. 

The first time was on impulse, and Elio’s initial reaction had been shock, followed by pragmatism. 

“If you want the paperwork, the next of kin and all that, we can do it. We can set up an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow to make it all official. We should probably have done that long ago. But I don’t want to get married again. It has nothing to do with my commitment to you. And besides, there’s no gay marriage in Italy. We’d have to get married abroad, and it wouldn’t be legally recognised back home.” Because Italy had very quickly become _home_.

But Oliver wasn’t so easily put off. The second time he went all out. Romance. Down on one knee. A ring.

Elio had taken his hand and curled Oliver’s fingers around the ring. “I want to say yes, because I love you more than you could ever know, and I want to be with you forever. But I don’t want to be married."

(Oliver still has the ring. He’s strangely fond of it. Will keep it always, even if it’s never needed for its intended purpose.)

The last time, about a year ago, Oliver levelled with him. “This isn’t an ultimatum, the offer is always on the table, but I won’t ask you again.”

“That’s fair. But you don’t have to, Oliver. I promise- if I feel ready some day, I’ll ask you."

But that’s not what he’s going to ask today. This is about something else, something so tiny and yet so important to Oliver. Just as symbolic as a ring to him.

“On this day 13 years ago you came here and I asked you to come for a drink, for dinner, to meet my wife and boys. I- actually, I pleaded with you in a most undignified manner- but in my defence, I was desperate for you to say yes. And you said-”

“I said that I couldn’t. I said that…” Elio shakes his head slowly. “I basically said that I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because I still had feelings for you. So if you were desperate, I can’t say I was much better. Although in _my_ defence, I hadn’t appreciated just how much seeing you would affect me. Anyway. We’re here now because…?”

“Later that evening, after a couple of drinks, you promised me something. That if I asked you again in the future, in 13 years, when I was 52 and you were 45, you’d come meet my family. So. Here we are, after 13 years. Elio.” This feels more important than those times he proposed. He takes both of Elio’s hands in his own and looks into his eyes. “Will you come for a drink, come for dinner, tonight, now, meet my wife, my boys. Please.”

Elio is wide eyed. Shocked. Then he grabs Oliver and pulls him into a fierce embrace that knocks the breath from his lungs for a moment. Oliver catches the tremble in his voice. “Yes. Yes, I- oh, Oliver- that would be wonderful. Thank you. I’d love to. If you’re sure your wife won’t mind.”

Oliver squeezes him, then steps back and grins. “Ex-wife, actually. And no, she doesn’t mind. Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Elio laughs. “Are we really going to? Is that what this is all really about?”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

“We’re not going to meet your ex-colleagues for drinks?”

“No. We’re going to do that tomorrow. I owe them a drink for arranging for this room to be free now, for one thing.” Suddenly he’s unsure. “Do you mind? Is this whole thing stupid?”

In the moment it takes Elio to answer, Oliver worries that he really has done something ridiculous, but Elio’s answer is a kiss. He steps forward and runs a thumb down Oliver’s cheek before pressing his lips to Oliver’s own, hard and determined. Oliver opens to his tongue and grips Elio by his waist to pull him closer. Elio pauses for breath and Oliver takes a moment to look at him, cheeks pink and eyes closed. But Elio quickly moves in to kiss him again, so Oliver stops thinking and loses himself.

And then Elio pulls away. Oliver is pressed back against the wall, breathless.

“No, Oliver. It’s not stupid. For the record, that’s what I wanted to do to you that afternoon. It’s beautiful and wonderful and hopelessly romantic and it makes me feel- I don’t even know what it makes me feel. Something... huge. And happy.”

“You walked down these stairs, and there you were.” He cups Elio’s face between his hands, and strokes his cheeks. “I genuinely didn’t recognise you. In my head, you never changed, but it wasn’t because I’d forgotten you. It truly was the beard that did it. Because in my head you were still that boy I knew in Italy, frozen in that time and place. I mean- I knew, really, that you’d changed and grown up and lived your life. But it was too painful to think about you like that. Without me. I’d kept up with what you’d been doing. I read the papers you published, though,” he laughs, “I didn’t understand much of it. I knew that you were working pretty close to here. I even thought about turning up at your hospital with an imaginary ailment, just to see you.”

Elio laughs. “That would have been a shock. I don’t know what problem you were planning on pretending to have, but I hope it wouldn’t have been something that required a steady hand to treat. When I was here in your lecture I could hardly sit still, and that was when I wasn’t taken by surprise. If you’d appeared at my hospital it might have been too much for me to cope with.”

Oliver tugs his hand. “C’mon, let’s go. Julie’s expecting us. It’s a lovely walk along to the parking lot, as I think I mentioned before.”

***

Julie's house is surprisingly noisy given the fact that Oliver's sons are both adults. But they’re tall. They seem to take up a lot of space. And right now, they seem to be arguing about a video game. Elio sweeps Julie around and kisses her on both cheeks. “Hi, I’m Elio. It’s lovely to meet you. Thank you for having me over at such short notice- I’m so sorry to impose on you like this, but-”

Julie swats him away affectionately. “Wow, you’re really embracing this whole act, aren’t you? You’re idiots, both of you.” She pulls him into a hug again. 

Elio gives her his cheekiest grin. “But that’s why you love us.”

Julie just shakes her head and goes to check on something on the stove.

Elio leans on the counter next to her. "We must make sure we all get away together soon". They do that every year. A week’s vacation, or at least a weekend break. The four of them make an unconventional group- Elio and Oliver, his ex-wife and her wife. But it works. 

Alan shouts through from another room. "We can hear you, you know. We don't want to know about your gross annual sex holiday."

That might be what the boys believe, but it’s not about that. It’s about companionship and understanding, about having other people in your life who just _get you_ and have been through some of the things you’ve been through. It’s always a week that leaves Oliver feeling calm and refreshed. 

Elio leaves Oliver in the kitchen with Julie and goes to hang out with the boys.

He’s close to Oliver’s boys, especially Edward. It all started one evening when they’d lived in Italy for just a few months.

Oliver came home late from drinks after work one evening to find Elio sitting in the kitchen with Ed, who he’d thought was at home on another continent with Julie and Laura. 

“Ed? What are you- does your mom know you’re here?”

“Dad?” He shook his head, then turned pale. He stood up and ran to the bathroom.

Oliver noticed the wine glass on the table. Two bottles on the counter by the sink. “What’s going on here? Elio?”

Elio shrugged and averted his gaze.

Oliver took Elio’s chin in his hand firmly and turned his face towards his own. Looking into his eyes he could see that they were glassed over, that he couldn’t quite focus.

“Is he- did you get my son- my _underage_ son, I might add- drunk?”

“Barely.”

“Barely drunk? Elio, he can hardly stand. He’s vomiting right now.”

“Oh, no, he’s _very_ drunk. I meant that he’s barely underage. He’ll be 21 in a couple of months. And we’re in Italy. He’s not underage here.”

“He doesn’t live in Italy.”

“That’s not how it works, _Americano_ , and you know it. And besides,” he continued with the air of someone telling a drunken secret, “I think he might want to come live here. Move in with us. Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

It would not be awesome. Oliver loves his sons more than life itself but… no. “What?! Don’t be ridiculous. He is _not_ moving in with us. He has another year of college left, for one thing.”

Elio just shrugged again, and swayed a little where he stood. 

“How much have you had to drink anyway?”

“Not much, really. But it’s been a long day and I didn’t have time to eat at lunch, and then your son came along and drank me under the table, so this is really his fault, actually, and…”

“I’m not sure he drank you under the table. He seems to be in a worse state than you are.”

Elio nodded vigorously. “I know, right?!” He looked around the room as though checking that nobody was watching, and whispered, “between you and me, I don’t think he can handle his drink.”

Oliver realised that he wasn’t going to get much sense out of him right now.

He called Julie while Ed was still in the bathroom, and let her know where he was. When Ed came out, looking miserable, Oliver sat him back down at the kitchen table.

“Right. You.” He slammed a glass of water down on the table in front of Ed. “Drink this. And you-” he glared at Elio. “Start talking.”

Elio looked longingly at the glass of water, and Oliver rolled his eyes but poured one for him anyway.

“There’s not much to say, really. I got home from work and had a shower and was just about to sit down with a glass of wine when Ed knocked on the door. So I offered him a glass, too, and we got talking, and that’s all.”

Ed had downed his water and put his head down on the table, resting on his arms.

“You offered him a glass- which is okay- but then you let him drink the whole bottle?”

“I-”

Ed raised his head from the table pitifully and interrupted. “Dad, it’s fine. I have drunk alcohol before, you know. You let us drink at home.”

“That is not the same as this. You-” he pointed at Elio, “you should know better.”

“Oh, come on Oliver. You’re in no position to talk. You let me get blind drunk when I was only seventeen. Ed’s hardly a teenager, he’s a grown man.”

“That was different. It was a different time, and you were used to drinking. Legally.”

“He has been in college for 3 years, you think he’s not used to drinking? Don’t be naïve.”

“You should know better than this. You’re a doctor. I don’t expect you to be a bad influence on my kids.”

“I’m not. Some would argue that you were a much worse influence on me.” in his drunken head he clearly thought he was whispering, but in reality he wasn’t quiet at all. “You were a terrible influence. You had sex with me when i was seventeen and drunk. At least I don’t want to do that.”

Ed groaned. “I’m not too drunk to understand you, you know. I don’t want to know about what you got up to when you were young. I already feel very sick. I think I ate something bad on the plane.”

Oliver turned his attention back to Ed. “You didn’t eat something bad. You’ve just drunk wine until you made yourself throw up. What happened, anyway? What are you doing here?”

It turned out that Ed, feeling stifled by spending spring break at home with his mother and miserable after breaking up with the girlfriend he’d been with through his whole time at college, had for some unfathomable reason decided that the solution to all his problems was to flee the country. Once he’d established that much Oliver thought that it would be best to leave further discussion for the morning.

He put Ed to bed in the spare room with another large glass of water, and stroked the sweaty hair back from his forehead before leaving him. “We’ll be just across the hall if you need anything.”

He joined Elio in bed. Elio, always a horny drunk, soon had his hands all over Oliver, kissing him sloppily. “Please, Oliver? I don’t even want to fuck. Let me blow you?”

Oliver held Elio’s hands still and tried to look stern. “I’m still mad with you, you know. You’re a menace.”

“I know. I can’t help myself.” Elio’s mouth was wet on Oliver’s neck. God, he loved him like this. There was something so endearing about it. “I’m sorry, really truly I am. I should’ve known better. Please?”

There was never any question of Oliver refusing him. This version of Elio takes him back more than twenty years, to those young men with next to no inhibitions and an almost uncontrollable desire for each other’s bodies. And though things between them now are certainly no worse for being a much more grown-up relationship, it’s nice to revisit that simpler time.

“Okay, but we have to be really quiet. I mean really, _really_ quiet.” 

“I can do that. Promise.”

Oliver knew it was a promise which would only be partly kept, but that hardly mattered. When Elio had his hands on his thighs and mouth on his cock he could forgive him pretty much anything. And it’s not like he was exactly silent himself, after all. 

Afterwards, Elio had sobered up considerably and snuggled into Oliver’s chest. “So, about Ed. You might want to have a talk to him about birth control. I talked to him a little, but I think it should come from you.”

“What?!” Oliver said, much too loudly. “Oh, shit. Shit. Are you saying-”

Elio interrupted. “No, no. But a close call.”

“It’s not like I haven’t had that talk with him before.”

“I think the talk you had when he was younger was probably in the abstract, and reality isn’t always the same. I’m just saying, maybe you should have a discussion.”

“Hmm. I guess.”

“Oh, and I gave him all of our condoms. Seemed prudent.”

“Well, that’s... kind of embarrassing, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like we really use them anyway.”

“He’s a nice kid.”

Oliver smiled and ran his fingers through Elio's hair. “Yeah, he is. I’m glad you think so too.”

***

Ever since then, Elio and Ed have been firm friends. Oliver suspects that they talk about things they’ll never tell him. He’s about 90% sure they share embarrassing stories about him, but he really doesn’t mind. It’s sort of nice.

Dinner at Julie’s is a happy affair full of love and laughter. Oliver is surrounded by all the people who are important to him and it’s so much better than any visit 13 years ago could possibly have been. 

His own happiness frightens him sometimes, but he’s starting to realise that maybe everyone feels like that sometimes, and maybe it’s okay.

They stay after dinner for coffee but don’t linger for long. Oliver has other plans for the rest of the evening.

He’s booked a room in the hotel where Elio stayed 13 years ago. Where they had drinks and reminisced, and where Oliver’s life started to come crashing down around his ears. “It’s the nicest hotel in town. And I wanted to take you for a drink. There’s a nice bar. I have it on good authority that they do a great martini here.”

“Oh, really? I may have heard that too.” Elio smiles and kisses his cheek.

They almost don’t make it for drinks. “Let’s check in first.”

The receptionist smiles professionally. “Mr Williams. We have you booked in the honeymoon suite?”

“That’s right.”

Elio looks at him, and Oliver grins. Grips his hand tightly.

Oliver has gone all out. Said yes to pretty much everything the hotel offered. Rose petals on the bed ( _Of course, sir, I’m sure we can arrange peach colored petals. That shouldn’t be a problem at all_ ). The champagne is chilled, and Oliver pops the cork theatrically. “I just thought we should celebrate.”

“This is…” Elio is standing in the middle of the room, looking around. “Wow. This is nice. Really nice. I can’t believe you booked the honeymoon suite. You’re ridiculous and I love it.” Elio sits on the edge of the bed and bounces on it. “Ooh. Nice bed.”

Oliver sits next to him and hands him a glass of champagne.

“We could just stay here. Have an early night, make the most of the room.” Elio puts a hand on his thigh. Squeezes lightly, and moves his hand up.

Oliver stops it. “Do you remember in Rome? When we almost didn’t make it to the book party because we nearly got distracted by enjoying our hotel room?”

Elio throws his head back and laughs. It’s not something he often does, and Oliver is thrilled by his joy. “Oh, god, I hadn’t thought about that in years. When I fingered you on the balcony. What was I thinking?”

“Probably something similar to what I’m thinking now. But I really do want that drink, so hands off. It’s part of the whole ritual I planned out. You can have this later.” He moves Elio’s hand a little higher, just high enough to barely brush his cock before standing up and extending a hand to pull him to his feet. 

He pulls Elio into his space and kisses him through his smile.

***

Elio sips his martini elegantly. “Do you still think about the old men on the piazzetta by the Piave memorial?”

Of course he does. It won’t be many more years before they _are_ the old men on the piazzetta. At least he hopes so. A permanent move to B. is, in time, what they hope to do.

“I do. But now that that’s almost us, I don’t envy us at all. Those young people who had so much happiness but didn’t know what it would feel like to lose it. The years we were about to lose, in a coma or a parallel life, always fearing that what we had was gone forever. I feel sad for those young men who had no idea how to cope with that terrible loss.”

They’re sitting in the hotel bar. Oliver would have arranged to sit in the same booth, but the bar has been refurbished since they were last here and everything is different.

“Do you remember what you said? That this evening, when we were too old to care any more, we’d speak of the young men who were ourselves as though they were strangers who we wanted to help along. That we’d _want to call it envy, because to call it regret would break our hearts.”_

Oliver nods. “I remember. And here we are. I’m happy to have been proven so wrong. No regrets, at least on my part.”

“Nor mine. Last time we were here, I never imagined in my wildest dreams that things would be the way they are today.” At the time, here in this very same place, Elio had spoken about the fear of using up the bowl of happiness which was left from that fleeting summer. But now? Now the bowl overflows, replenished every day with a never ending supply. 

Now they drink from it freely without having to worry about saving some for later.

“When you drove away I went up to my room here and cried like a baby. I hadn’t expected it to feel the way it did. Coming to see you was a... a test, I suppose, to see if there was still something there. I hoped there wasn’t, but as soon as I saw you I couldn’t deny that it never went away.”

“It wasn’t easy for me either.” Oliver has told Elio some of what happened in the time after his visit. How it brought a lot of things to the surface. 

“I’m sorry.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’m not. It was time. I couldn’t have got to where I am today if it hadn’t happened. And the thought that I could have been missing this… well. I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.”

Oliver looks at Elio’s almost-empty glass. “Do you want another?”

“No. We still have champagne upstairs. And if I drink much more I’ll probably fall asleep before I get to show you what I wanted to do to you 13 years ago.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you tell me what it was you wanted to do?”

“No. I want to show you.” Elio’s feet wrap around Oliver’s ankle. _I wanted to do this, for a start._ In itself it’s not something unusual, it’s a way they often sit casually over the dinner table at home. Feet tangled together affectionately. But this time it has meaning.

13 years ago it would have been more than Oliver could have taken.

“What would you have said? If I’d asked you to come up to my room?”

“I honestly don’t know. I know what I wanted, but I don’t know whether I would have done it. I may have said yes, but then maybe not. Would you have told me you were married?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, I didn’t ask you. But I’m about to do it now.” Elio downs the last of his drink before reaching across the table and taking Oliver’s hand in his own. “Come upstairs with me.”

“Yes.”

Oliver expects to be kissed in the elevator, but it doesn’t happen. Elio just stands next to him nervously, not meeting his gaze.

He expects to be kissed as soon as the door to their room closes, but that doesn’t happen either. Elio stands by the edge of the bed and beckons Oliver over, then starts talking as he slips Oliver’s jacket off his shoulders and starts unbuttoning his shirt methodically. Oliver kicks off his shoes.

“I would have been happy to just take your clothes off and look at you. Even if you didn’t want to do anything else. Just to have you here, like that, would have been enough. Just you. Or I would have been happy to have gone to sleep with you in my arms, all our clothes still on.” It’s a heartbreaking echo to the night when Oliver told Elio about his impending marriage. Two men who, fifteen years apart, wanted so much but would have settled for so little.

“Nothing else?” Nothing about the way Elio is touching him feels sexual- he hasn’t even touched his bare skin yet- but Oliver finds himself breathing more heavily nevertheless.

His shirt falls to the floor and Elio starts work on his belt buckle. He watches what his hands are doing as he talks. “Oh, no, I wanted everything else. I would have been happy with less, but I wanted a lot. I wanted to know if your skin still tasted the same. If you’d still sound the same when I touched you. If you’d still like the things you liked to do before, a lifetime ago.” Oliver’s pants go the same way as his shirt, and he obligingly steps out of them without being asked. “I wanted to know if you’d still like me, if you’d like the things I’d learned since I was with you, or if you’d just want to pretend I was that innocent boy you once knew.”

Oliver’s mouth is dry. He’s so hard in his underwear. His underwear, with Elio’s fingers pulling the waistband down over his ass.

“God, Elio. You make me crazy, you know that? You always did. The things you say.”

He puts his mouth so close to Oliver’s that he can taste the champagne on his words. “So shut me up.”

“No. I want to hear. Tell me everything.”

Oliver leaves his underwear on the carpet and Elio takes a step back to look at him. 

They’re not as uninhibited as they were in their youth. At times there’s shyness on both their parts, and sometimes one of them will switch the lights off before they get to the point of nakedness. But Oliver doesn’t feel that way tonight.

“I…” Elio swallows. “At this point I would have lost the power of speech, I think.”

“Can I undress you?” Elio nods. 

He does, button by button, fabric sliding over skin.

Finally Elio kisses him and pulls him down onto the bed.

Oliver never imagined being here like this on this night that was predestined all those years ago.

But then Elio stops. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure what I wanted to do. A part of me would have wanted to do it hard and fast and get the job done, worried that I was racing against the possibility of you changing your mind and deciding to leave. But another part of me would have wanted to take it slow, take the time to feel everything knowing that it would be the last time. What do you think we should do?”

“Both of those sound good. If I had to choose, I’d say that I think tonight is a night for taking things slow. But do whatever you want to do, Elio. Whatever you need.”

Elio takes a moment to think before nodding decisively. “Let’s not hurry, then.”

Time melts away under hands and kisses, until Elio flips onto his back and pulls Oliver down on top of him. He doesn’t need words to ask for what he wants.

There are no set roles in this relationship. Who does what in bed largely depends on what mood they’re both in at any given time. But tonight’s mood is one which takes them back to the first time they slept together. And while they don’t seek to recreate that, it feels fitting tonight to pay tribute to that time and those people they were.

Things are not the same as they were when they were young. The desperate, constant buzz of desire that left them unable to keep their hands off each other has been replaced with something different. Stronger and more patient. Although there’s something to be said for being young and horny, this is better. Because of the things they’ve learned along the way, yes, but mostly because this time they know they can keep each other forever. 

Oliver takes things slow until he can’t hold back any longer and Elio pleads for more. 

Oliver says someone’s name then he comes, but he’s not sure if it’s Elio’s or his own.

Afterwards they doze contentedly, caring little about the damp sheets or the fact that they’ll wake up sticky in the morning. 

“I want to shower, but I don’t want to move.” There is a glorious shower in the bathroom as well as an enormous bathtub that Oliver fully intends to try out before they leave. But not right now.

Elio seems to agree. “Let’s not move. We can live with sticky sheets for one night.”

Oliver gently untangles the knots from Elio’s sex-rumpled hair. “So that’s what you wanted to do to me 13 years ago?” 

“It is… but there was more. 13 years ago my refractory period was a lot shorter. I’d have been able to do it twice.”

Oliver laughs. It’s a good point and it applies to both of them. “We can do the other stuff in the morning.”

“Good idea.”

Just before they drift off to sleep Oliver thinks of one more thing he wants to say.

"Thank you."

"What do you mean?"

"For indulging a sentimental middle-aged man today. For giving me a second chance with you. For everything." Oliver feels like the luckiest man in the world.

Elio holds him tighter. "Thank you for finding me."

The scent of crushed rose petals fills the air as they finally sleep.

***

It's night when they board the plane, but it’ll be morning when they arrive back in Italy.

It’s time to go home. _Home_ is in Italy, in the apartment they bought together in the city close to the university and the hospital. Home is even more in the huge house by the sea where they spend most weekends. The house that costs too much to heat when it turns chilly in the winter, the house with the orchard and the pool and a gate that leads to the path down to the rocks by the sea. The house with the memories, both old and new.

This, here, the place where he lived for nearly 50 years, isn’t Oliver’s life any more. His life is in Italy. The life he never thought he’d get to have, with the man he’d never thought he’d be loved by again. Never thought he deserved to be loved by again. 

The plane picks up speed and lifts off on its impossible trajectory beyond the clouds and towards the stars, taking them on to the rest of their lives.


End file.
